


Weeping Willow

by Sherwings



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: (None Of The Abuse Is In Present Time), (Only Referred To In The Past Tense And Never Described In Detail), (why do antagonists always want to monologue? and WHY do I indulge them?), Alternate Season/Series 12, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Angst, Case Fic, Declarations Of Love, Disturbing Themes, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Guardian Angels, Happy Ending, Kissing, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, Metaphors, No Sex, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Slash, Romance, Slash, Symbolism, Unrequited Love, aka "Guiding Spirits"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 101,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherwings/pseuds/Sherwings
Summary: This world is not so different from our own.The only difference is, there are Guardian Angels - or more accurately, what they refer to as Guiding Spirits. Souls of those departed that left an indelible mark on an individuals life.They only show up once, and only when needed most. A Spirit will come to each and every person eventually, it is a matter of fact truth.Spencer Reid hardly expected his to show up when, quite frankly, he had enough on his mind. Including, but not limited to, feelings for a certain Unit Chief he'd long thought silenced reemerging after a series of events changed the BAU, and his life in particular.What he doesn't realize is all that, was only the beginning, and a far more troubling series of events is soon to arrive, literally, on his doorstep.Spencer Reid can only hope there is light at the end of this turmoil, and perhaps a chance to let go of past pain determined to haunt him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time writing in the Criminal Minds fandom, and my first ever Big Bang. I had a lot of fun, and stressful times (worth it) writing this story.  
> I hope you all in enjoy!  
> If you have questions about the warnings, let me know. :)
> 
>  
> 
> And my special thanks to the artist Pickingupellen who created the awesome cover for Weeping Willow. http://pickingupellen.com/weeping-willow2/

              

 

 

_The only justice is to follow the sincere intuition of the soul, angry or gentle. Anger is just, and pity is just, but judgement is never just._

_~ David Herbert Lawrence_

 

 

 

She is broken; mind, body and spirit. The holy trinity. Years have ravaged her, brought her down to bloody knees. The past is a distant dream, a twisted fantasy of fear and beauty. She wanted to stay, she wanted to leave, in the end – she made her choice. Her past has been alien to her for years longer than she wishes to account. Who is she now? Even she doesn’t know.

And yet…yet, she _had_ to know – she had to know this one thing, the beauty in the fear, the one thing that made all of it worth surviving.

A woman sits in a lonely room, far from where her past dwelled, auburn hair greying with time and flowing over the edges of her hands, hands which hold an ordinary piece of paper. The words upon it however, are anything but ordinary. They are the beauty snuffed, the pain renewed, the anger, the _need_ , reborn.

How… _how_ did this happen? She asks herself. Not even the worst of fear compares to this, how, _how?_

She screams, but there is no sound. She cries, though there are no tears. She is empty.

No, not empty. Helplessly, she reads the words over and over again, some more prominent than others… _dead…four years…murdered_ …and that emptiness where the beauty dwelt is filled again; anger, purpose.

There aren’t enough words. None of these tell her why, who or how, they don’t hold the knowledge she needs.

She has to know who took the beauty away.

Her purpose was to give life to the beauty, now, that life is gone. Cruel irony brought her into the world by evil, and now she is taken away by evil – _No!_

_Was this evil punished?_

_Where was your Guardian Angel?_

She must return to where her past dwelled – and make it her present.

She _has_ to find the evil.

She _needs_ to know.

That beautiful, miracle life cannot end with this.

She is made of mistakes, but she _must_ make this right, by any means.

There is no other purpose for the empty soul.

The woman pulls out an aged, crinkled photograph of a young child in the arms of a slightly older one.

“I am sorry…” Her broken voice embodies the tears that finally fall.

_We were only children._

         

                                                  

            

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt_

_(They change the sky, not their soul, who run across the sea.)_

_~ Horace_

 

 

 

Cafes are pockets of human community; activity abounds. Assembly lines of chaotic efficiency, the latest indie hits lost in the white noise of voices, the cling clang of drinks, food or sometimes just simple advice being served, more often it is the obligatory hello/goodbye, then you’re gone. Groups of conversation dotted throughout the area, some simply standing, others surrounding tables, the door all the while blowing in cool or warm air as it is routinely opened.

Always though, there is the lone corner spectre; lost in thought, not drinking their coffee at all, a small pile of torn sugar packets at its side.

Today, that person is Spencer Reid.

The past several months have left no room to breathe. Even with the unpredictable nature of being a BAU FBI Agent, thirteen serial killers escaping isn’t exactly common place. Whatever you plan, or how many contingences are in place, seldom do things go as they should – no matter how Spencer wishes otherwise, it is a fact that had never been more glaringly apparent until recently.

Four re-caught. Three killed in the process of arrest. Two eventually found dead, one murdered, the other ruled a suicide. Another actually surrendered voluntarily, that was a surprise.

And of course, there was Peter Lewis; a.k.a “Mr. Scratch”

He was the most relentless, the most intelligent – and from Spencer’s point of view, the most sadistic. The way he consistently manipulated and twisted people’s minds; to achieve his own violent ends without ever getting literal blood on his own hands, brainwashing them with torture until their identities were stripped. He was a dark genius doling out the ultimate cruelty.

Still, he wasn’t infallible. Spencer only wishes they’d tracked him down sooner.

It took six months for all escaped serial killers to be accounted for, one way or another. Honestly, Spencer wouldn’t have been surprised if it took longer, and he knows he’s not the only one who feels similarly.

They had to bring on a new team member; Luke Alvez, admittedly Spencer hadn’t exactly warmed to him _quickly_ , the fact that he was essentially a replacement for Derek made accepting him…difficult, although it appeared significantly more challenging for Garcia. 

There were also multiple consultants that often worked with them on a daily basis – Emily, being one of them. Her connections, and friend, from her time with Interpol proved immensely useful. Spencer, and many others, had missed her greatly, so seeing her again was both a comfort and a relief. It wasn’t until recently that it was revealed she had decided to stay, move back to the United States – and in any other situation, Spencer would’ve been overjoyed.

This time…he only wished it had been under better circumstances than what befell them in those final days.

Whether by design or poetic irony, Peter Lewis was the last to be found. However, during all the months previous, he would make his presence in their lives known; pulling strings all around them, taunting them, trying to – and sometimes, unfortunately, succeeding – guide them along on a metaphorical knifes point. It had everyone on edge.

Spencer can’t help but be relieved that during _all_ this, his Mother was safe, and with her experimental treatment at John Hopkins, steadily improving despite the occasional slip. It was a weight off his shoulders, and granted him extra focus. Unfortunately he wasn’t able to see her during all this, it made him sad but – she was safe. That’s what mattered.

Despite the extra weight that was consistently lifted off his shoulders because of that, Spencer feels utterly drained and exhausted, in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time.

If all this had managed to be stopped a few weeks ago, Spencer would’ve tired for certain, but he would’ve been fine – he wouldn’t have felt…like this.

There are others, who were not as lucky as his Mother.

Mr. Scratch was caught, but not before he kidnapped Jack.

 

_No._

_No…how did this happen? Spencer’s thoughts screamed inside his head._

_He was protected! They all were!_

_Everyone stared with horror in their eyes as a bed where Jack should’ve been sleeping lay empty – nothing but a crude drawing of a monster upon it, signed ‘Love and regards, we’ll talk soon, Peter’_

_“He has him, Jack, he…he has him.”_

_Spencer had never heard Hotch sound like this before; a quiet, steady rumble of thunder with the looming threat of a lightning crack._

_When an alarm went off (an alarm **no one** should’ve been able to get close enough to set off in the first place, with the added protection in place) signalling someone broke into the Hotchner home, they had been in the epicentre of the BAU; going over possible new leads for Mr. Scratch. Hotchs phone went off just when Garcia had come running in quite obviously terrified._

_(“I don’t know how they did it, but the cameras and alarm were delayed somehow, it happened just minutes ago!”)_

_It was chaos after that._

_And then, with Hotch leading – his face shuttered of any emotion clearly in an attempt to control his fear; fear and anger that was cracking through as their worst fears came true before them._

_Jessica was unconscious, then on her way to the hospital._

_And Jack was abducted._

_Spencer, JJ and Luke had entered Jacks bedroom with Hotch. JJ looked sick, Luke’s jaw was tense with anger, and Spencer was shocked, and terrified. Not solely because of Jack. Spencer doesn’t consider himself as having much in the way of violent instincts, but there have been times when if he had certain people in front of him – he would be tempted to pull the trigger without mercy, times like at that moment._

_It had always been personal with Mr. Scratch, for all of them, especially Hotch. This brought it to a whole other level._

_And the other truth was, in that moment, **Hotch** was terrifying Spencer. Not with anything the man **was** doing, but what he **wasn’t** doing._

_Those words he’d uttered earlier were the first he’d spoken since entering Jacks room. From where Spencer was standing, gun slowly lowering, vest not quite attached properly in their haste to get here, he could see Hotch – Aaron’s face._

_He’d been there when Haley died. Somewhere in his mind, Spencer suspected that if it weren’t for Jack, Hotch would’ve been lost – he was lost, but he had his shining light in Jack that kept him going._

_In that moment, Spencer knew that if they lost Jack – they lost Hotch. They would lose them both._

_Spencer could see it, in clenched fists around the gun still in his hand, the tense quivering lines of his face; Hotch **was** going to lose it. And Spencer wouldn’t exactly blame him if he did._

_And he couldn’t. Not then. Jack needed him._

_It‘s not over yet, Aaron._

_In the comfortable misery of his own mind, Spencer called him Aaron._

_Always, Aaron._

_And so, Spencer holstered his gun and cautiously stepped over to the man frozen beside him._

_“Hotch?” Spencer tried speaking, but his own voice was cracking._

_He tentatively reached for the gun in Hotch’s hand. He was relieved to find that despite the tenseness of Hotch’s fingers, all it took was Spencer touching his hand for his grip to relax, making it easy for Spencer to remove it._

_JJ had come up behind him, so he handed the gun over to her – the two of them shared a knowing look, in her eyes there was a fear very similar to his own, deepened by the fact that she had to have been thinking of Henry and Michael in that moment. Once he passed the gun off to her, JJ turned around and left the room to inform the others. Luke stayed behind, a watchful guardian – at the time Spencer was grateful for the presence of someone perhaps **less** involved than most of them, it helped to keep the room grounded._

_But only just._

_“Hotch.” Spencer repeated, gently. “We’ll find him.”_

_Reason, honed by years of seeing the painful realities situations such as these can bring, protested his words, but whether they were true or not – they needed to believe them, **Hotch** needed to believe them._

_Spencer saw similar thoughts crossing Hotch’s mind, going by his tense brow and clenched shut eyes; deep, labored breathing._

_“I…I can’t-” Hotch stepped away from Spencer and faced the wall, hand covering his face._

_“We **will** find him.” Spencer prayed to Gods he didn’t believe in to please not make him a liar in this._

_A part of Spencer, a rather strong part, felt he should walk over to him and…do something. He wanted to, but…isn’t that what JJ would do? Rossi? Tara?_

_Spencer was floundering, but if Hotch couldn’t focus right then - **Spencer** would need to for both of them._

_Spencer wasn’t quite as good at compartmentalizing his mind and emotions as some might think, and that showed in situations like this. In reality he’d simply become practiced at appearing like he was. Perhaps he was still better than most, and right then he needed to tap into that. Jack’s life depended on it._

_He turned away from Hotch, though his presence was still very much in Spencer’s purview, and went towards the bed._

_Just another case._

_This is like any other case._

_Do your job._

_No matter how much Spencer chanted the words to himself, an inner voice screamed ‘no it isn’t!’_

_You wouldn’t know it to look at him._

_Spencer, the very picture of intensely focused, making sure to observe his environment to the minute detail, pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and snapped them into position on his hands._

_His heart pounding, Spencer stared at the ominous drawing; complete with the hated scrawl of a man who tormented them for months, laid out with pristine precision in the centre of Jack Hotchner’s bed._

_The very way the paper was laid, perfectly centered with only the possibility of a small margin of error being a millimetre at most, spoke volumes about the mans need for absolute control._

_“What do you see?”_

_Spencer successfully contained the instinctual flinch at the suddenness of Hotch’s voice, more than a little desperate; at his side (he didn’t even hear him come over, too engrossed)._

_He glanced at Hotch briefly. The man seemed much more controlled than a minute before, but it was the shine of his eyes that reflected how much of a façade that was. And Spencer wasn’t about to call him out on it, it wasn’t the time._

_So, Spencer tried to reign in his own fear and began to do what he does best – observe, calculate, consider._

_If Spencer purposefully brushed against Hotch, a silent gesture of support, as he kneeled down closer to the bed, neither one mentioned it._

_“More than you’d think.”_

They found him. Alive – _Thank God_ – but they _should’ve_ found him sooner. The time between Peter Lewis kidnapping Jack and Jack being found was far too long, hope dwindled with each day that passed.

And each day Hotch became more untethered, and that much more relentless.

No one, not even the Director tried to take him off Jack’s case – Spencer suspects Rossi had something to do with that. In the end, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Hotch was going to do all he could for his son, with or without FBI sanctioned approval.

The team was with him 100%. Spencer is glad the others were there for Hotch, support and giving him space. Mostly Spencer gave him space; he didn’t know what _else_ to do - except do all he could to track down Mr. Scratch, and Jack.

Spencer doesn’t like to think about that time. If it was emotionally draining for him, it had to have been devastating a thousand times over for Hotch, no matter the front he put on – those who know Hotch best could see through it. Spencer included.

The point is, Jack was _found_ , traumatized but _alive_.

Spencer breathes deeply at the thought, a shudder going through him as he sips at his sweet, lukewarm coffee.

And Mr. Scratch…Peter Lewis, is dead.

It wouldn’t have been possible if Mr. Scratch himself hadn’t sent them that video, and they all know it.

They found Jack, but it was too close. Far, _far_ too close.

The video was sent, of course, to Hotch; vinegar in the proverbial wound. It was a fateful twist of irony that it led to Peter Lewis’s demise and Jack’s rescue.

In truth, more than anything - it was providence.

Spencer closes his eyes for a moment, and then looks out the small, café window with a sigh.

“Thank-you, Mrs. Hotchner.” _Haley._

 

 

_The room was obviously small, in a house several decades out of date; the aged décor matched a middle class home from the eighties._

_Spencer only noticed all that in the barest sense, his attention was focused on the young boy tied to a chair that had been carefully polished, at odds with the frayed, harsh looking rope that bound his arms and legs._

_Spencer could feel the collective relief when they realized he was alive. It had been days, but Jack as **alive.** It was hard to tell, but there didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him – it was a small consolation, one that could very soon be dashed either way._

_Garcia had brought the video up to the largest screen. No one wanted to watch it, for fear of what it would – could, contain. However, everyone knew it was necessary. No matter how clever Peter Lewis was, the fact that he had broken his MO by being **this** direct and emotional in his actions, proved that he was even more likely to make a mistake – they had no choice but to bet Jack’s life on it.  _

_Everyone had moved closer to Hotch when the video flared up, the footage a bit shaky at first, and then Jack was there front and centre._

_Hotch looked…Spencer couldn’t even put a name to the agony on his face._

_No one said a word. Not even when Scratch made his appearance, the tension in the room felt like leagues under water._

_“Hello, Aaron.”_

_Hotch’s entire posture hardened, his eyes turned into dark, furious pools._

_Peter Lewis, in a basic black shirt and pants, stepped out from behind the camera and kneeled to where the camera was eye level with Jack. Spencer noticed he was carefully looking somewhere off to the side and seemed far too calm for the situation._

_Spencer frowned, but his attention was redirected back towards Scratch when the man started speaking again._

_“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here. This is, obviously different than the other soliloquys I have shared with you before. Even men such as me eventually grow tired; I think this has gone on quite long enough. Don’t you? Of course you do.” Scratch smiled a slow, slick smile._

_There was something in his eyes, something…unhinged. Spencer shared a glance with JJ standing to his right._

_Did something happen to trigger him into this state? Or was it simply a matter of time? Spencer thought to himself._

_When Scratch stood up and moved closer to Jack Hotch made an aborted step forward, one of his hands clenching tightly to the back of Garcia’s chair._

_The man started speaking again; however Spencer was once again caught by the fact that despite the presence of Mr. Scratch, even after having moved closer – Jack wasn’t afraid. Or if he was, he was doing an awfully good job at hiding it._

_Anyone would be afraid, let alone a child. So why wasn’t Jack?_

_Spencer moved closer, focused pinned to the screen; to Jack, and to every detail of the environment surrounding him._

_Jack was looking very deliberately away from Scratch, but his attention wasn’t distant. He was focused very much on the window beside him – no, not the window itself, just off to the side of it. The window was the only one in the room, and other than the bright purple curtains adorning it, there was nothing on the walls, nothing obvious that Spencer could see which would catch Jack’s attention._

_Jack **is** his father’s son; was he trying to tell us something? _

_Suddenly, the light purple drapery moved as though by a gust of wind, but…Spencer leaned forward, now parallel with Garcia, eyes fixated on the movement – which quickly became deliberate and consistent every three seconds, Spencer was sure. There was no obvious sign of a machine or person that could cause this and the window was closed, even a crack in the sealing of the window shouldn’t cause it to move like **that.**_

_When Spencer focused on the window itself, it became apparent that despite the darkness of the room it was only early evening at the latest outside; the outside scenery was easy to notice, distinct even through the window and subsequent camera._

_Spencer’s mouth dropped open slightly as he focused on the outside beyond the window, waiting for the next movement to come. Sure enough, a few seconds later there it was._

_Mountains. It was mountains, a very distinct formation._

_Blue Ridge. Had to be, but where - ?_

_Possibilities began bouncing around Spencer’s mind when just as suddenly as it happened, the movement stopped. And it couldn’t have been because the video stopped, Scratch was still talking – though Spencer was only passingly aware of it._

_Not only that, Spencer noticed Jack moving too, his mouth formed a word and his eyes seemed to follow something –_

_Oh! Of course!_

_“Wait! Stop, stop the video, go back ten seconds.” Spencer cried out._

_Startled at the sudden loudness of Spencer’s voice, Garcia paused the video._

_“Reid, what is it?” Hotch demanded with a glower in Spencer’s direction._

_“Did you see something?” Emily stepped forward from beside Tara and Luke._

_Everyone had been staring at him._

_Spencer ignored them all for the moment. “Do it Garcia.” Spencer leaned forward ready to catch the moment, he thought he knew what Jack mouthed – and if he was right…_

_“Doing it!” With a few clicks of keyboard and mouse Garcia rewound the video._

_When it started playing again, Scratch’s voice filled the air._

_“You can mute it.”_

_Garcia glanced briefly at Spencer. “With pleasure.” With a dramatic press of one button, Scratch was silenced._

_And…yes! There it was. The movement stopped, and Jack said…Damn it!_

_“Rewind again, and slow it down.”_

_Garcia was clearly confused, but she did it again without a thought and a few more clicks slowed the video again._

_“Reid, what are you s-”_

_Spencer looked at Hotch and gave him a quick head shake, before looking back at the screen. Spencer knew he was being frustrating, and he would explain himself later, but right now wasn’t a time to be sensitive._

_Garcia pressed play on the video; significantly slowed down made things easier._

_Spencer knows his team, his family, are intelligent and when – if – he’s proven right they’ll be able to see it too, but while Hotch was likely not able to absorb all the little details in the sight of Jack tied up like he was, and the others were focused on Scratch, they probably didn’t notice what Spencer did._

_Again, the video reached the point – the last view of the mountains – “Those mountains, outside the window, I’m fairly sure they’re the Blue Ridge mountains, looks like a northern view-” Spencer stopped when the curtain draped back into place, he heard some movement behind him once he uttered those words, then Jack was mouthing, Spencer desperately tried to read his lips –_

_He blinked slowly. “Mom.” Spencer said._

_The room went silent._

_Spencer straightened back up and looked at Hotch._

_“He…he said Mom.”_

_It only took a moment, but Spencer could see when what he was implying sunk it for Hotch. It only took a further few seconds for the rest of them to get there as well, Spencer assumed from the gasps that followed._

_Spencer heard Garcia frantically doing something on the keyboard, out of the corner of his eye he saw the video being played again._

_“I’ll be damned.” Emily muttered._

_Similar sentiments were said by all._

_Hotch’s mouth had dropped open slightly, and he gave Spencer a long, unreadable look that had Spencer fighting the urge to squirm._

_When he finally turned away, without a word, Hotch reached over to once again rewind the video, eyes rapt on his son. Garcia gracefully slid out of the way._

_Spencer again looked at JJ beside him. She had her hand over her mouth, and there were tears in her eyes. When Spencer reached out to hug her, JJ had her arms around him immediately._

_As he held her, Spencer looked from the video, to Hotch, and back again. Once again, Jack uttered that word._

_Mom._

“Guardian Angels”, or more accurately, _Guiding Spirits_ come to us when we need them most. At least, that’s what is commonly thought, for those who don’t delve deeper into the intricacies of it, which are far more complicated than the romanticised perceptions of them.

There are only theories, some more plausible than others, for how, or why, Spirits of departed loved ones or those who, in some way, impacted our lives significantly, appear to the individual - seen only by them, and only once in a life. It is a reality no different than the fact you have skin, or digest food and liquid through the stomach, and as mysterious as the unmapped margins of the human brain.

Jack’s mother, Haley, was his.

And she was a surprise that saved Jack’s life. Guiding Spirits may not be able to physically interact with the world; however, there have been cases when they were able to subtly influence things without physically touching them.

Like creating enough movement, or maybe blowing air, to make curtains move.

 

 

_It took longer to get to the home than it did to find it._

_Once they did, it was clear Peter Lewis was surprised – yet his demeanour betrayed no more than that. Perhaps because he had the tip of a needle pressed directly against Jacks neck, all it would take was the slightest pressure..._

_It was over for Mr. Scratch, and he knew it, even if he made the usual demands of ‘let me go or I’ll kill him’ he wouldn’t get a mile, let alone ten feet before someone caught him, the entire home was surrounded. Instead, he quite clearly wanted to cause as much as damage as possible before he was recaptured._

_A man with nothing left to lose was a dangerous one._

_And gathering by the faces of his fellow team members, and a few S.W.A.T. officers, they knew it. Hotch most of all. He and Jack made instant eye contact the second they burst into the room. It was when Jack said ‘Dad-’ that Peter Lewis, hidden in shadow came out with the needle and had it in place before anyone could take action._

_Spencer didn’t know whether to be concerned or admire Jacks composure, perhaps having both his parents in the same room gave him courage._

_Even so, He could see it in both Hotch and Jacks eyes – they were scared. And it broke Spencer’s heart._

_Please, please let this end well._

_He’d experienced the possible outcomes of situations like this too many times to gauge where this could go, statistically it wasn’t in Jack’s favour – no, no he couldn’t afford to think like that._

_There must be something…_

_“Hello Aaron. You’ve surprised me, not an easy thing.” Peter Lewis positively beamed._

_For whatever reason, it occurred to Spencer then that this man was his age. Why that bothered him so much he didn’t know._

_“You are not getting out of this one Peter, let my son go and I’ll argue for leniency.”_

_Yes, Jack was definitely taking after his father. Spencer could tell it was taking all of Hotch’s strength not to tackle Lewis, or shoot him right then – he couldn’t, not with Jack’s life potentially still in danger._

_Spencer couldn’t tell if Hotch was serious or not about the leniency, at the moment it didn’t matter._

_He tightened the grip on his gun, pointed directly at Peter, but like Hotch – his eyes kept flicking to Jack._

_“Really Aaron, you can do better than that.” Peter obviously didn’t believe Hotch. He pressed the needle a little bit more into Jacks skin, not quite piercing it. Jack flinched, finally breaking gaze with his father to somewhere near the side of the chair._

_Hotch was two decibels away from growling, and Spencer could feel everyone around him itching to move to, to do **something** – including himself._

_“You son of a bitch.” Tara muttered from somewhere off Spencer’s left._

_Peter actually giggled. “Quite.”_

_There was no telling how much longer this stand still would last._

_They just needed an opening something to distract Peter Lewis enough to he moved the needle away or –_

_Spencer inhaled sharply._

_This was his father’s home. Long since abandoned, with various owners before then (who obviously never lived there long enough to redecorate), which in any other circumstance would’ve made discovering this place much more difficult – why they didn’t find it before._

_However, in this instance, it was Peter Lewis’s mistake. There were surprisingly little homes in this area of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the perspective which indicated a view from the north narrowed it down to Georgia. After that, they took a gamble, and it was less than half an hour before Garcia got a list of real estate in the area; narrowed it down to homes built in the eighties, that had been empty for many years, and of course with connections to Lewis or any member of his family._

_They found it._

_If it hadn’t been for Haley, manipulating the movement of the curtains, they likely wouldn’t have found the home – not in time._

_And right then, it was clear to Spencer they only had one shot – and he’d just found it._

_Again, Spencer prayed that this risk would pay off._

_He was gambling with a child’s life, Hotch’s son. There was no room for error._

_“This was your father’s home.” Spencer suddenly spoke, trying to keep his voice steady and confident._

_Clearly no one expected Spencer to speak, many frowned – and Luke behind him murmured “what are you doing?”_

_Hotch didn’t react, not taking his eyes of Peter and Jack for one second._

_Peter raised a solitary eyebrow. “Yes. I assume that’s how you found me.” He spoke slowly, regarding Spencer as little more than an insect. “Although, I will admit I am uncertain how, this place isn’t exactly on the grid anymore-”_

_“Haley.” Spencer quickly, and loudly, interrupted._

_Then, Hotch reacted. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the man glancing at him, a confused frown etched on his face. He didn’t say anything, and resumed keeping a weather eye on Lewis._

_Hotch trusted that Spencer knew what he was doing._

_Usually Spencer did, in this instance he wasn’t sure. And that trust Hotch obviously had in him scared Spencer as much as it warmed him. He didn’t want to let him – or Jack – down._

_Breathe Spencer, just breathe._

_For the first time, Peter Lewis looked confused._

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Haley,” Spencer repeated. “Jacks mother, she led us here.”_

_Jack looked at Spencer then with a small gasp of surprise. Spencer tried to give him a reassuring smile. He wasn’t sure if it took._

_If Peter was confused before, he was downright baffled at that point._

_“I’m afraid your mind must be – on its way out Spencer, much like your mothers yes?” Spencer reigned in his anger, not now, not now, stay focused! “I thought about paying her a visit-” Breathe, breathe… “-but my efforts were rather focused elsewhere as you very well know. But I digress, as you can see there was no one else here but Jack and myself.”_

_Without taking his eyes of Scratch, he saw Jack shake his finger as if to say “no” - in his peripheral vision._

_Good boy Jack._

_“You’re right, you and I can’t see Peter, but Jack can.”_

_The change was immediate. Lewis froze. “What?”_

_Spencer cursed when he saw the hand around the needle tighten. Keep talking!_

_“Haley Hotchner nee Brooks, I’m sure with all your research into our private lives you have come across her name; Aaron’s wife, dead nearly 7 years, Jacks mother – and Guardian Angel.”_

_Yes! There it was – Peter Lewis twitched, his own composure slipping for a moment. Spencer was on the right track._

_Now, keep going, keep his attention on you – not Jack._

_Lewis was silent, increasingly angry eyes either fixated on Spencer or flicking around, as if looking for someone._

_“That’s what you want, isn’t it Peter? To see your father again?”_

_Peter Lewis’s jaw tightened, and to Spencer’s left he felt some tension leave Hotch as he realized what Spencer was trying to do._

_“Is that what all this has been about? You’ve been wondering why you haven’t seen him, why he hasn’t come to you when you needed him over and over again.” Hotch added, distracting Lewis from Spencer and once again focused on him._

_“You want to see him again, to apologize – beg his forgiveness for not doing more to save him. Peter, his death was unjust and shouldn’t have happened. You were a child; there was nothing you could’ve done.”_

_Peter’s eyes flicked back to Spencer when he spoke; hardened, and angry._

_“Stop talking Spencer, I know what you’re trying to do, it’s pathetic and it won’t-”_

_“So you tried to get his attention, by any means possible. You blamed the entire world, people who were victims themselves.” Emily joined in._

_Peter looked over at her with gritted teeth, not saying a word._

_They’d begun working together, keeping Peter off balance and distracted, herding him into a moment where they could act._

_“And you knew, didn’t you? That he would never have approved of what you’ve done, the people you manipulated, the people you killed and forced to kill others; twisting their minds and identities.” Tara._

_“They were just as guilty as the wretched woman who did all-”_

_“You wanted to anger him. Pleading, begging, didn’t work, and so you did whatever you could to get his attention, even though that you had to have known – somewhere, that Guiding Spirits don’t work like that.” Rossi._

_“You were an angry child yearning for his father.” Luke._

_Peter looked very off balance now, hand twitching around at the needle, grip loosening than tightening again._

_Someone needed to twist in the knife, and direct his anger towards them and away from Jack – the final push to break Mr. Scratch._

_And Spencer knew what would do it._

_“I think there’s a possibility you haven’t yet considered Peter.” Spencer spoke, his stance tightening – preparing for, if he’s right, what he hopes Peter might do and give them the opening they need._

_The man scoffed. “Oh yes? Tell me then genius, but make it quick - all of you are picking at scraps like rats, searching for crumbs. It’s pathetic and really not worth my attention.” His voice may have sounded confident, but Spencer could see the look in his eyes – they almost had him._

_“You weren’t important enough for him to come back for.” Spencer’s voice shook the slightest bit towards the end; the words pinging quite loudly for him – for obvious reasons._

_He wasn’t the only one._

_It happened very fast._

_Peter Lewis pushed away from Jack, knocking the boy and the chair overly roughly. Jack cried out._

_Shit!_

_Peter, needle held aloft, leapt at Spencer with surprising speed._

_There were in very close quarters, there was no time for him to take a shot and not risk hitting someone else if Lewis knocked him over._

_Instead, Hotch side-tackled the man to the ground before he could do anything, causing the needle to roll out of Mr. Scratch’s hand and across the floor._

_“Go to Jack! We’ve got him.” Emily cried out._

_She and Luke took over with attempting to restrain the angry, growling Peter Lewis. Other people swarmed in to assist. JJ ran across the room to grab the needle Peter was useless struggling to reach._

_Spencer quickly moved over to Hotch and Rossi who were dealing with a crying Jack; where he landed when Peter knocked him over and subsequently his arm. The two men had gently turned him over, desperately trying to untie the chair._

_“Get the paramedics in here now!” Rossi yelled._

_Tara nodded and ran out the door._

_“Jack, Jack, its ok, we’re here, you’re safe.” Hotch choked, trying to keep Jacks arm steady to relieve the pain while Rossi cut the tougher ropes around Jacks arms with a penknife._

_Spencer dropped to his knees and Rossi without a thought handed him the knife so he could get rid of the rope around his legs._

_All the rope fell away and very carefully Spencer, and JJ who rushed over, pulled on the chair._

_Jack, who was biting his lip, couldn’t contain the scream of pain at the movement._

_“Shh, shh, it’s ok, we’re getting you help. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Hotch murmured with uncharacteristic softness, one of his hands softly stroking Jacks hair._

_“Mom, Dad…” Jack whimpered._

_Hotch’s face flashed with pain, and nodded without taking his eyes off Jack._

_“Yeah, we’re here buddy.”_

_Spencer was fighting back angry tears as he gently examined the boy’s legs, looking for any injury._

_“You daddy’s not going to be leaving you any time soon.” Rossi said with a small, reassuring smile as he examined Jacks wrist and skin of his non-broken arm; flaring red, purple and blue from how tightly he was tied._

_“Dad he, he wanted to hurt you, hurt everyone, is…” Jack spoke so quietly, tears streaming down his face, Spencer suspected he was going to fall unconscious any minute._

_Hotch whimpered. “Everyone is fine. No one got hurt.” Except you, the words went heartbrokenly unspoken._

_“Don’t, don’t leave me Mommy…”_

_The words were pain. Hotch finally broke and started crying, murmuring “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over, resting his forehead against Jacks, “you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, I’ll protect him Haley, I’m sorry”_

_“Mommy isn’t mad at you dad. She loves you, and me.” Jacks eyes begun to slowly blink, almost closing completely._

_Spencer clenched his eyes shut for a moment and looked at Hotch; utterly overwhelmed._

_Behind him he could hear the angry cries of Peter Lewis as he was handcuffed and “escorted” out of the building._

_The distant sounds of an arriving ambulance filled the air. It had been waiting not too far away in case it was needed._

_The team, barring Tara who would be escorting the paramedics, were the only ones currently in the house._

_All surrounded the prostrate father and son._

_“I love her too Jack, I love you both.” Hotch breathed in a shaky breath._

_They did it. Jack would be ok._

_Haley really was a Guardian Angel._

_Spencer wanted to cry, maybe he did._

_“She knows, Mom heard you. I’m…I hurt…”_

_“You can rest now, it’s alright. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Hotch was barely holding it together, yet trying desperately for his son._

_“Yeah…” Jack nodded, before finally, falling unconscious._

_Hotch closed his eyes and kissed Jack’s forehead, softly murmuring “Thank-you, Haley.”_

_Spencer wanted to do something, to…hold him, or just – touch him, something, reassure him but he didn’t do that. He couldn’t. Spencer didn’t want to somehow make the moment worse by overstepping._

_Ultimately, Hotch and Jack were going to be ok. That was enough._

_The paramedics arrived._

_The team members all backed away to give them room. Save for Hotch who remained as close as possible, and followed them all the way out to the ambulance._

_“You did good kid.” Rossi gently clapped Spencer on the shoulder as he watched four paramedics lift an unconscious Jack into the ambulance._

_“Yeah.” Spencer breathed out; staring at Hotch and Jack with unblinking eyes._

_As the ambulance prepared to leave, and Hotch pulled himself up into the ambulance beside Jack, the former turned to Spencer; nodded towards him with gratitude shining in his eyes._

_Spencer gave a small smile with a slight shake of his head – he hoped to convey, no thanks needed, I will always do what I can._

_He seemed to get it, because Hotch – for the first time in hours, if not days, genuinely smiled. A small one, but given the circumstances, Spencer called it a victory._

_They did it._

_The ambulance closed its doors, Hotch and Jack vanishing out of sight. The vehicle rumbled and drove cleanly away._

_Spencer remained where he was for a moment._

_“Are you ok?”_

_He frowned at Rossi’s question._

_“Why are you asking **me** that?” Spencer looked at him. Compared to the two who just left, Spencer came out of this devoid of any injury._

_“Not all pain is physical you know. This was hard, for all of us.” Rossi spoke calmly, in a way Spencer had long since come to either find reassuring or irritating, depending on his mood._

_Spencer nodded, conceding his point. He reached up and brushed his far too long hair out of his eyes before wiping cold sweat away from his face with a slightly shaky hand._

_Spencer really did feel tired, but there was still work to do dealing with the fallout of all this._

_“And I think, out of those here, you especially.”_

_Spencer abruptly looked back at Rossi, more than a little puzzled._

_“I don’t see how.” It was hard, had been very hard, in many ways – but Spencer knows he wasn’t the only one that felt the strain and fear, and then sheer relief, because this went far better than it could have._

_“Maybe not, all I know for sure is everyone one of us needs some rest.” Rossi laid his hand gently on Spencer’s shoulder for a moment before letting it fall away._

_On the latter, Spencer could agree. The rest…he didn’t know what that was about._

_All **he** knew for sure was that it was over._

_Hotch, and Jack, were alright._

_It was enough, more than enough._

_A few minutes later, they got the call. Peter Lewis attempted to flee after the car stopped in front of the closest jail – where he would’ve been held for the night before being transferred to a more secure facility._

_He was shot down immediately when he knocked over a surprised cop and, handcuffs and all, attempted to steal his gun._

_It took barely seconds, but apparently, before he drew his last breath he smiled and said “Father.”_

_Peter Lewis was dead._

All that was barely two weeks ago.

And to Spencer, it feels as though the entire world has changed, when rationally speaking – only one thing is irrevocably different.

He saw it coming, he did. Spencer tried to deny it, but it was at that moment – watching that ambulance drive away, that he realized what was going to come next. It was something that he knew the man had gotten close to doing before. What had happened with Jack…it tipped the scales.

Hotch quit. Permanently.

Spencer hated himself for wishing it didn’t happen, it was selfish that he wished that Hotch would change his mind – but the truth is, Spencer understood. After everything, he recognized peace was needed for the Hotchner’s.

He _wanted_ it for them. No matter how much not having Hotch there would hurt.

This job is anything but peaceful.

Once it sunk in, Spencer told himself this over and over again; it made the feelings of loss a little easier to bear.

He doesn’t deal well with change, when Spencer grows comfortable and trusting in his environment, the routine of seeing people he cares about nearly every day – he battles tooth and nail, often with just himself, when events threaten to change it. He doesn’t like adapting to so many unknowns.

It was hard when Derek left.

This…this is different.

It was worse.

Spencer doesn’t want to look too closely at why, because he _knows_ why. For the sake of his sanity – a not uncommon conversation topic among those close to him, he knows – he won’t examine it. He just…he can’t.

It was two days after they found Jack, ten days past, when they were informed. Jack was still in the hospital at that point; due for release within the next 24hrs, and Hotch had of course been at his side the entire time.

Since Jack went to the hospital closest to where he was found, it wasn’t exactly a short drive from Virginia to Georgia, they all visited only once after he was initially admitted.

Spencer was last, and it so happened to be the late afternoon on the same day the entire team was informed of what changes were coming.

They were all being put on leave – paid – for the next two months. Their workload the past several months had been particularly grueling, and near constant, no breaks or days off (they were very much needed), and another BAU team would fill in for them until their return.

Finally, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner would not be returning to the BAU. Due to a recommendation from him and after being consulted, Emily Prentiss will be remaining permanently to take over as Unit Chief for this BAU team.

No one was truly shocked, but the difference between knowing what’s coming and experiencing it can be very different.

It was for him.

He was ultimately glad Emily chose to stay, but at the time Spencer just wanted to leave and think. A part of him smarted that Hotch didn’t tell them first, they had to hear it from the Director. However, given the circumstances (Emily had been planning on returning to England after she was no longer needed, they would want to know why she suddenly decided to stay for good), Spencer could understand.

 

 

_Spencer felt more than a little out of his depth when he stepped into that hospital room – events of the morning swirling strongly in his head. It had slowly sunk in on the drive down, and in a way Spencer was grateful the hospital was so far – it afforded him time to think._

_Unfortunately, it didn’t give him any insight into what he would say when he got there. Surely at that point Hotch would know that they knew._

_The second he entered the room however, with the sight of a Hotch who obviously hadn’t slept properly in days (although someone seemed to have brought him clothes); sat in a chair by Jack’s bedside, elbows resting on the edge of hospital bed, a quiet stare directed at his sleeping son…Spencer knew he wasn’t going to say anything. If Hotch brought it up, that would be another matter, but Spencer wasn’t going to bring it up._

_In truth, he didn’t want to._

_Jack before him was layered with many blankets, his cast covered arm exposed and on top of the slow rising of his chest. Where Spencer couldn’t see, he knew there were many horrible bruises, and Jack apparently had sustained a head injury at some point – a large reason why they kept him in the hospital for a few days. Just in case._

_The broken arm was still the worst of it. Luckily they hadn’t discovered anything else seriously wrong._

_They were lucky Mr. Scratch hadn’t decided to starve him._

_Everyone was relieved._

_Even knowing all that, it made Spencer feel sick to his stomach to see Jack like that. He may not be as close to him as Henry, but he’d still been around since he was born, and when the team had get-togethers Jack was often there. He was one of the children who had never succumbed to the “Reid Effect”._

_And he was Hotch’s – **Aaron’s** , son._

_Hotch hadn’t noticed him yet. Spencer stepped forward, making a slight cough to announce his presence._

_Hotch flinched a little in surprise, but immediately looked up. It occurred to Spencer then, barring a sleeping Jack, this was the first time they’d been alone since what happened._

_Spencer, clad in a purple shirt, grey vest and jeans, topped with a corduroy jacket, gave Hotch a small smile which the man returned, still looking very weary, more than a little stressed, but there was something different – as though a weight were lifted off his shoulders._

_Spencer coughed awkwardly. “Hey, um, how is he?” He asked before moving to the side of Jacks bed opposite Hotch. Without looking at the man, Spencer gazed at the quietly sleeping Jack – automatically assessing the state of his injuries._

_“The concussion was only mild, his arm is healing well – he won’t be able to use it for a while. He **really** doesn’t like that.” Hotch snorted softly in fond amusement. “Otherwise, all is well and we should be going home tomorrow.”_

_“That’s good.” Spencer pulled a chair closer to the bed before sitting in it. Spencer wanted to ask about Haley, if Jack could still see her, but he was unsure if that particularly query would be welcome at present._

_Maybe Hotch saw the question in Spencer’s eyes, or maybe he wanted to talk about it. Either way, he brought it up first._

_“Haley’s gone.”_

_Spencer smiled sadly and nodded; watching Hotch with a careful eye. The man was no longer looking at Spencer but instead at Jack with sadness on his face. Spencer couldn’t tell if it was just sadness for Jack – or if he himself was sad too._

_“I’m sorry.” Spencer said in lieu of anything else._

_“It is what it is.” Hotch started stroking Jacks unbroken arm, covered by blankets._

_“How is he with…that?”_

_Hotch signed. “He’s…sad, but it was good for him to see her, brought him some peace I think.”_

_“And you?” The words were out before he could rein them in._

_Despite their years of knowing each other, Spencer has never had liberty to inquire or ask Hotch about himself the same way say, Rossi did._

_At least, it never felt like he had._

_Hotch looked at him with some surprise, but unexpectedly to Spencer he proceeded to answer._

_“Yes, I suppose.”_

_He didn’t extrapolate further, and Spencer didn’t pry._

_For a moment they remained quiet, nothing but the gentle sound of their collective breathing and the distant noises of a bustling hospital._

_It was…surprisingly easy._

_It made Spencer’s heart throb, but he tried to ignore it._

_“Spencer.”_

_The use of his first name, something Hotch didn’t do all that often, made him look up at Hotch sharply – only to be trapped in his intense stare, a look that demanded you pay attention. Spencer’s hand involuntary clenched on top of his thigh._

_“I never thanked you, for what you did.” Spencer frowned a bit in confusion. “It wasn’t just Haley. You picked up on what she was doing, and you saved my son. You both did. I will never, ever be able to thank-you enough.” Hotch’s hands were clasped in an almost prayerful position; all that earnest gratitude directed Spencer’s way._

_It took a while for Spencer to be able to tear his eyes away from Hotch’s, but he did – looking uncomfortably off to the side. “No need to thank me, I was doing my job.”_

_“Yes, you were, but you went above and beyond, putting yourself at risk in more ways than one. And I am still, beyond grateful.”_

_Spencer’s hand clenched tighter at the sound of Hotch sounding so goddamn sincere and emotional, it was…softer._

_Somehow, he suspected Hotch wouldn’t let it go until Spencer accepted his thanks._

_Spencer took a deep breath and looked back at him._

_“You’re welcome, Hotch.”_

_The corner of Hotch’s mouth quirked up._

_“I’m glad you all came to see him.” And you, Spencer added in his head. “Of course, I wouldn’t have expected anything less. You’ve all been family to me, and to him.” Hotch uttered, voice significantly more serious._

_Spencer froze. Oh no. He can see where this is going._

_For a few moments he’d almost forgotten about that morning._

_“I’m sorry, I never meant for you guys to find out that way. I wanted to tell you all, in person; you deserved that much at least. I don’t know what the Director was thinking.” There was a tinge of annoyance, but mostly Hotch sounded nothing but contrite, and a little worried. “I know it will be difficult, for all of you, the job, was my life for so long, but I’ve missed so much of my son’s life, I have-”_

_“Hotch!” Spencer didn’t mean to interrupt that loud, but he needed to get him to stop. Hotch abruptly closed his mouth with surprise. “You really don’t need to explain, I understand, I do – we all do. You **will** be missed, and…not just because you were a great boss.” Spencer gulped here, and Hotch smiled softly. “If anyone deserves rest, it’s you – and Jack.”_

_Spencer meant what he said, 100%, but he honestly wasn’t sure why he panicked the way he did._

_He just…couldn’t handle more of Hotch being this…open?_

_Maybe it was selfish of him, but it made the whole thing feel so much worse._

_His hearted pounded loudly._

_“I appreciate that Spencer, and please, I hope you know that I’ll still be available to talk. I’m only not working for the FBI anymore, I’m not gone.”_

_It feels like you are._

_“Yeah, I know.” Spencer nodded, not looking at Hotch – he couldn’t, right then he was fighting tears and growing angry that they were there in the first place._

_He has to go, Jack is sleeping and Hotch – Spencer has to go._

_“Um, I really should be heading back. It’s a long drive.” Spencer got up, perhaps a bit too quickly._

_Hotch stood up too. “Alright, drive safely, and take care of yourself.”_

_Without looking, Spencer simply nodded reflexively, buttoned up his coat, looked once more at Jack and made to leave._

_“I mean it.”_

_Hotch’s voice stopped Spencer in the middle of his hasty exit._

_He didn’t turn around. “I know, you too Hotch.”_

_With that, Spencer left._

_The entire drive home, he was forced to relive those few minutes in eidetic detail._

_Why did it hurt so much?_

After Spencer got home, he proceeded to spent the rest of the next day sleeping – because for once, he could. In normal circumstances, intense workload or not, he wouldn’t be able to sleep that long; mind running in circles and constantly thinking.

But that night, he just crashed. Spencer was exhausted physically, mentally and even more emotionally than he had been the day before.

Still is, really.

It has been several days, and with two months of leave looming ahead Spencer didn’t know what to do with himself.

He does intend on visiting his mother, but maybe when he feels less like sleeping every day.

In the privacy of his own head, Spencer can admit that he is not dealing well with Hotch leaving – and that’s not even touching on everything surrounding it, Mr. Scratch, Jack, the past six months…

Apparently, Spencer Reid has reached overload.

He really wished he could say it was just because of all the change happening.

But for once, what is tipping him over into this borderline depressive state isn’t that, it’s Hotch.

At least, his…confused _feelings_ surrounding Hotch.

Again, Spencer wishes he could say it was the first time Hotch has…done this to him, well not him directly of course; Spencer’s just doing this to himself really. Regardless, it isn’t the first time. Not for a _while_ , but definitely not the first.

Spencer groans and rests his head, hard ( _ouch_ – too hard), on the rim of his cooling coffee mug.

_Why, I don’t understand, why…why now…I thought I dealt with this, I **had** dealt with this…_

And this time, others are noticing.

 _“Spencer, are you alright? You’ve been avoiding talking with any of us, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”_ Phone message from Garcia. He’d responded to that one with a perfunctory text, explaining that he was just tired. Spencer is still not sure if she bought it, in fact she gave up far too quickly than is characteristic of her.

She didn’t seem angry though, not when he saw her a little while later – she just gave him a hug.

And then, a few days later, after Spencer gave up sleeping and trying not to think altogether, he went over to JJ and Wills.

_“You seem…off Spencer, are you doing ok?”_

_“I’m fine JJ; really – just…I’m tired. Are these monogrammed pyjamas too out there for Will’s birthday?”_ It wasn’t a lie, but it was only a fraction of the truth.

Every single one of the team had something similar to say every time he saw them, it was quite honestly starting to grate on his nerves - hence why he’d gone back to semi-avoidance.

Although, there is one person who hasn’t badgered him – no matter how well meaning, about his mood; Luke, and for the moment; Hotch.

Despite a rocky start, he and Luke have become friends during the last several months of working together. He carved his own place into Spencer’s life without “replacing” Derek in the least.

It is primarily because of the former reason that Spencer had seen him more than the others the past couple of weeks. Luke will ask him how he’s doing, but will accept it if Spencer has no desire to talk about himself, which has been status quo so far.

They’ve been playing Chess. Right now, Spencer is grateful for a friend not as involved or as aware of Spencer’s history compared to the others.

Because, much to Spencer’s displeasure, he can acknowledge that he has a history of self-destruction when painful, life-shaking events occur in his personal life – and the team know it.

Gideon leaving.

Gideon _dying._

Trouble with his mother, several times over.

His father.

Dilauded…he still felt cravings at the worst of times.

All those are just naming a few.

And of course…Maeve. He still dreams of her on occasion.

Spencer breathes in shakily, trying to call off the sorrow that still lingers. He can’t think about her. Not _now._

His mind is already chaotic enough as it is, if she somehow became present in his mind again – his sanity may be irretrievable, at this point he’s not sure it isn’t already there.

Spencer can’t help but think of her though, he has only ever been in love twice.

Her, and…well.

Spencer lifts his head away from the rim of his mug. At the table across from him, an older gentleman is reading a German dictionary, beside him is a group of college students and behind Spencer is a single father with his two kids – worlds existing around him, no matter how chaotic he feels. Most times, it can be a reassuring thought.

Of course all of Spencer’s usual tactics to… _separate_ from himself are failing right when he needs them most. He squirms a little in his seat, the sound of the chair against the mural covered cement floor far too loud in his ears.

Really, coming out to wallow in public is a last resort on his part – but less embarrassing, and less uncomfortable than being around people who know him.

Usually, Spencer is decent at compartmentalizing his emotions from his logic and rational, keeping his working mind separate from his heart. Some might argue he is too good at that. Call it what you want, denial or a coping mechanism; it has worked for him his entire life.

Until now.

Perhaps because recent experiences have forced certain…thoughts and feelings to the surface of his mind at a time when Spencer’s world was shook.

It really is incredibly frustrating.

They’re years old, filled with scales of comfort and intensity, naiveté and experience, and always, _always_ unspoken – impossible to be otherwise. Spencer thought they were gone when he met Maeve, but…obviously not.

Spencer has accepted his lot to be that one cliché of unlucky in love, so why must his mind, his _heart_ , torture him this way?

Unbidden, the stare of those dark, stormy eyes flashes across his vision -

“ _No_.” Spencer wheezes, head now in his hands; heels of his palms pressed tightly against his eyes.

He can’t block them out, or ignore these feelings.

Yet to unambiguously name them would feel like something akin to heartbreak.

At that moment, Spencer is startled by the vibration of his phone.

“What…” Spencer absentmindedly mumbles while taking the phone out of the corduroy jacket he’s still wearing.

Spencer unlocks his phone, and is immediately assaulted by four new texts. Derek. (That’s a nice surprise) Emily. Rossi. JJ.

With a slight frown, Spencer opens the one from Rossi first.

_I’d like your input on a new book I’m planning, call me when you’re free. – R_

Spencer’s brow rose in surprise. _That’s new, and not unwelcome._ Even with years of getting to know the man, and not just the Agent Rossi he idolized, there’s still a part of him that is more than a little humbled by the request.

He quickly responds.

_Tonight? – S_

He next opens the text from Emily.

_Tell me, who was the man whose GS was his pug who had been dead for 7 yrs? – E_

Spencer snorted at that one. An animal being an individual’s Guiding Spirit is not as uncommon as many seem to believe.

_Woman. Her name was Angelica Frieda. And it was a Clydesdale Horse, not a Pug. – S_

What an odd thing for Emily to ask about.

Before Spencer could move on to the next text, he’s surprised by Emily immediately responding.

_Shit. I owe Penelope 10 dollars. Thanks anyway. :P - E_

Oh, ok, she’s with Garcia, makes a weird sort of sense then. Still feeling somewhat bemused he moves on to JJ’s text.

_Can you come over for dinner tomorrow? – JJ_

He considers for a moment, and sighs with a slight smile. He can’t avoid everyone forever, and really, he doesn’t necessarily _want_ to – it just ends up being easier that way.

_Yes, what time? - S_

Like Emily, she responds quickly.

  1. _That ok? – JJ_



_I don’t have any plans – S_

_Alright, see you then Spence, I hope you’re having a better day <3 – JJ_

_I’ll see you tomorrow JJ. – S_

He purposefully didn’t confirm or deny the second part of her text; in truth he’s not really sure of the answer himself – just more of the same really.

Finally, Spencer scrolls down to Derek’s message.

_Hey little bro! Savannah and I are planning a grill dinner this weekend, will u come? We’ll be inviting everyone. – D_

Everyone. Does that include Hotch and Jack? Probably. There’s no guarantee they’ll go, they have been keeping to themselves, recovering, according to Rossi.

Spencer isn’t sure being in close proximity to a primary subject of his muddled state of mind would be very smart – if he _does_ go.

He can’t say no though. Spencer hasn’t seen Derek, or Hank, for a while.

_Of course. Say hi to Hank for me. - S_

Spencer is about to close his phone and put it away, when something catches his eye. An old text thread right below Derek’s; Hotch.

Maybe one day Spencer will have the courage to replace Hotch with ‘Aaron’ in his phone. It’s not like anyone will see it but him.

Spencer shakes off the thought, and as though of its own mind – he finds his thumb clicking on the conversation stream; temple resting on his left fist as he slowly moves through the words (from before Jack was taken) with the index finger of his right and starting from the beginning.

_How did the meeting with the coroner go? – H_

_Cause of death same as the others, exsanguination due to an aortic puncture from a long, thin cylindrical object with a blunt end. Severe bruising around the entry wound. Would’ve required a great deal of force. – S_

_There was evidence of a struggle, unlike previous victims. – S_

_Alright. Meet Rossi and I at the previous crime scene, we’ll discuss this more once you arrive. - H_

And then, a couple of days later after that particular case got solved, they were on the plane headed home. Spencer had been going through some cold cases he’d brought with similar MO’s to Mr. Scratch, hoping he could identify a predictable pattern before his next move.

Other than himself, the only one not completely exhausted – or at least, not sleeping, was Hotch; at the other end of the plane, staring intently on his phone.

_Even geniuses have to sleep sometimes. – H_

_I don’t disagree. – S_

_That was a hint Reid. Get some rest; we have a long plane ride ahead of us. – H_

_I will, eventually. I’m working at the moment. – S_

_I know what you’re doing, and it can wait. – H_

_I also know you were lying when you told everyone you got sleep yesterday after Bergeson was caught. – H_

_I’m fine Hotch. Really. – S_

_You’re drooping in your seat, and your reading speed has decreased over the last ten minutes. Sleep, before you burnt out. That’s an order. – H_

At that point Spencer remembers casting a slightly irritated frown at Hotch, who merely responded with a quirked eyebrow and a pointed look.

He _would’ve_ been fine, but…

With perhaps a bit more force than necessary, Spencer grumbled and packed the case files away before rolling up his jacket, and using it as a pillow to rest against when he leaned on the cool window of the plane.

He knew Hotch had a point when almost immediately his eyes began to droop.

When he was hastily awoken by JJ, telling him the plane had landed, he found there was another text from Hotch sent only a few minutes ago.

_Good morning. I bet you feel better now don’t you? – H_

_No. I feel wretched. Thanks for asking. – S_

_Coffee awaits at Quantico. – H_

_Amen. – S_

And then, the weekend after that.

_How’s your mother? You haven’t mentioned her for a while. – H_

It was out of the blue, and Spencer hadn’t been expecting a text from Hotch while he took a day off to spend some time Jack.

It…it had touched him.

_She’s fine, improving steadily. - S_

_Really? – H_

Spencer couldn’t exactly blame for Hotch double checking what he said. When it came to his mother, Spencer hadn’t always been honest with how she was really doing. It took Cat Adams for him to reveal she was diagnosed with dementia that would likely lead to Alzheimer’s.

That time, he was happy to reply with an affirmative truth.

_Really. – S_

_I’m glad. – H_

Finally, the last one before Mr. Scratch and…Jack.

They were at the BAU, everyone in their respective offices or at their desks, going over possible leads for Mr. Scratch – the only one left.

Reading what Hotch said about the fact Spencer had been steadily going back and forth to the coffee pot for the past two hours made him smile. Hotch wasn’t exactly regularly free with his humour, so when he was it felt special.

_I swear, one day you could turn into a giant coffee bean and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. – H_

_Thank-you. I’ve been wondering what my next Halloween costume should be. – S_

_Make sure to add a mug shaped hat. – H_

Spencer had giggled and reading it again – in a Café drinking _coffee_ no less – made him laugh.

Only this time, the difference was he could hear a melancholy edge to it, and as his smile slowly fell – he closed down his phone.

To his surprise a drop of water falls onto the empty, black screen. When Spencer reaches up and feels a tear or two trickling out of his eyes, he furiously wipes them away with his hand, and then pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Pathetic.” _It’s just…so ridiculous. I feel like the cliché teenager with a crush on a friends Dad._

_He’s only ten years older than you._

_That’s not the point!_

_It’s not?_

_Than what **is** the point?_

_He’s…he’s… **Hotch**_

_What does that mean?_

_I don’t know anymore_

_You didn’t call him Aaron; you usually call him Aaron in here_

_You’re not helping._

_You’re **talking** to yourself, ergo; you’re the one not helping yourself._

_Maybe I’m trying to distance myself, did you ever think of that?_

_Of course I did. I’m you. And its bullshit since it’s obviously not working, you know it too._

Spencer sighs.

Many don’t realize it, but his own head can be annoying even to him sometimes. Like now. He hates not having the solution to deal with a problem, feels like a constant itch that jumps around, and you can never quite find the spot to deal with it.

“Sir?”

Spencer jumps a bit in his chair, startled by the sudden appearance of the waitress at this side.

She’s giving him an odd look.

He can only imagine what is showing on his face.

“Sorry, um, what?” He half-heartedly tries to get control of himself, straightening his coat and discreetly trying to wipe his eyes.

The waitress – Amy, according to her name tag – tilts her head. “I was asking if there’s anything else I can get you?”

“Oh, um,” Spencer looks down as his half empty, now cold cup of coffee. “A new cup would be great thank-you.”

The abrupt change from inner to outer reality has him feeling a bit off kilter, so the polite smile he gives her – gathering by the look on her face – is more of a grimace as he hands her his old coffee.

“Right away.”

She _doesn’t_ move away. For whatever reason, she’s hesitating.

_Please don’t ask what the hell is wrong with the tired crying man please._

Spencer awkwardly shifts in his seat, attempting to ignore her as he pulls out his phone in an attempt to seem focused on something else – hoping she’ll leave.

It doesn’t work.

“You seem…upset. Are you sure you’re ok?”

Spencer resists the urge to be rude, he really does want to be alone, and instead looks at her for a moment.

She’s older than him, though not by much, and he half wonders what she experienced that has her worried about seeing a man crying alone, because she genuinely looks worried and well intentioned.

“I’m fine, thank-you.” He nods, looking at the coffee pot beyond the counter off to his right, he absentmindedly fingers his phone; laying prone on the tabletop.

“Ah. Who is she? Or…he?” She, Amy, tacks on the last with a hesitant lilt.

Spencer freezes and looks up at her. _Do I remind her of someone? Either that or she really is this nosy._

He doesn’t know what she saw that lead to assume he was thinking about someone like _that_ …she’s not wrong, but it makes Spencer feel uncomfortable that a stranger noticed so easily.

Spencer looks down at the table, thoughtfully gazing at his phone as his mind drifts to eyes that had become stormier with time…

“Aere Perennius” He mumbles.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing.” He shakes himself. “Please, just the coffee thanks.” Spencer uttered, a bit curt.

Amy looks embarrassed. “Oh! Of course, sorry, right away.”

_It seems there’s not peace to be found in public either._

He could just go home, but…Spencer really wants that coffee, and he’s run out.

“Ok, time to stop thinking.” If only it were that easy.

Spencer reaches into the bag of books he’d brought with him, his initial intention had been to go and read somewhere, but he’d been distracted by…well, obvious reasons.

He pulls out; War & Peace, a text on the latest theories and treatment for those with Alzheimer’s, and a French translation of the entire works of Arthur Conan Doyle.

When Amy comes back with his coffee, Spencer is nearly finished the text on Alzheimer’s and already making a list in his head of inquiries he could make to help his mother.

She places his drink beside him with no more than a softly uttered “here you are”, before leaving, for which he is grateful.

Spencer’s bag is filled with at least six other books, by the end of his stay here he’ll probably wrack up quite the tab in terms of coffee, but right now, more than ever, he needs the distraction.

So Spencer takes a deep breath, and sips his new cup of hot coffee with a sigh of relief. Hoping, as he settles in to get lost in reading, this period of turmoil won’t last much longer.

 

~

 

Fear. Pain.

A loud _crack._

Darkness.

Blood.

_Spencer._

Dead. _Not him, me – **I’m** dead._

 _Then why_ – squeezing, pushing, pulling…

_Light._

_Too_ light.

Far, far too much light.

It’s everywhere –

 

There, outside the very café in which Spencer reads – a young, auburn haired woman ripples into existence outside one of the many Café windows.

She gasps and stumbles, as though she missed a step on a flight of rickety stairs.

Feeling weak and overwhelmed by a sudden influx of sensation, she collapses against the wall nearest to her as the influx slowly fades and settles.

Many people pass by.

No one sees her.

“What…What’s _happening…?_ ” Her voice is dry and cracked, throat raw with a feeling of having swallowed dried sand.

This is so confusing.

She knows, knows that this is wrong. One moment there was a last glimpse of a face beloved to her, then darkness and pain intense but gone in an instant.

Then…then she doesn’t know. There is a muddled darkness in her mind, like memories have been taken from her, or – no, it feels like the mental equivalent of losing your glasses, there is a sense of where you are, what was around you, but you can’t quite pin point it.

All you know is that it’s there.

She’s dead, and has been for some time she knows, but this isn’t _death_ – yet she isn’t alive.

Her body, a reflection of herself once living, breathes deeply – though no oxygen is inhaled, the familiar action still somehow gives her comfort.

She utters a sound of relief when the cacophony in her soul begins to fade, adjusting to the living world around her.

_Yes, yes, that’s better._

Steel grey eyes slowly begin to open. She braces her hands against the rough, brick wall and pushes herself away from it.

Her steps make no sound as she backs away, finally taking in her surroundings.

Cars, roads, buildings old and new, and people – so many people.

And they’re walking _through_ her.

She inhales sharply moves out of the way, taking cover under a spare bit of awning over the Café door.

_I know._

_I know what this is._

She hugs herself tightly and automatically her head hangs, chin to chest, as the realization settles in.

“Of course, dead and now…this.” Tears that will never fall fill her eyes. She doesn’t even know _why_ she’s feeling the latent urge to cry.

 _This all feels…so unreal._ “I guess, in a way it kind of is. I don’t belong here – yet apparently I’m supposed to be here.” Her resulting hysterical laugh is hollow.

_Ok, ok._

She lifts her head.

_Now what?_

If she really is a Guiding Spirit, then she is _here_ for someone.

Who? Shouldn’t she know?

You’d think that would be useful information to have immediately.

She’s out of her depth, literally, and right now all she has is this ever-growing instinct building and guiding her on where to go.

It is not her own will that moves her.

She abruptly finds herself walking along the wall of the – she looks up – ‘ _Sandalwood Bean Café_.

 _Interesting_ , she thinks, _but why here? It’s not exactly familiar._

The sun is shining on her skin, though there is no warmth, as she passes by several windows – a force draws her gaze to look into the bustling little place. There is someone here, someone important, someone she _must_ –

She comes to a full stop outside the farthest window down, utterly frozen.

 _No. Is it…really -_ “Oh God…” _It **is.**_ She lifts a shaking palm to her gaping mouth.

Her eyes are wide and shining as she gazes upon the man, _weary – why is he so weary?_ , absentmindedly sipping at a cup of coffee, a book open in front of him with a pile of others stacked beside.

Somehow she knows he can’t see her yet – but soon, it will be soon.

_Spencer._

_I…I’m so sorry._

The phantom of a heart she once had aches.

_You. It’s you I’m here for._

_Why?_

It _is_ funny; this is a world of Guiding Spirts. People you love, people of significance re-enter the world, eventually, for a short time after death – you wonder when and how it will happen for you. Who will you see again?

However, seldom do you hear of people wondering if they _themselves_ will become one someday.

Maeve Donovan certainly didn’t.

Everyone receives their Guiding Spirit, but no - not everyone becomes one.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

_Love isn't there to make us happy. I believe it exists to show us how much we can endure._

_~ Hermann Hesse_

 

 

 

The weekend arrives, and that means dinner at Derek and Savannahs with the rest of the team.

Spencer has mixed feelings about it.

He enjoys the prospect of seeing everyone in one space with _out_ the looming reality of work, but the last few days haven’t exactly afforded him a great deal of resolution on anything and being around several trained behavioural analysts when his control _isn’t_ at its peak, and the likelihood of them picking up on exactly just how ruffled he is becomes automatically higher - well, it’s less than appealing to him.

Also, Hotch (and Jack) _could_ be there.

But Spencer is trying not to think about that.

 

~

 

As it turns out, Hotch and Jack _aren’t_ there when he arrives; gathering by the fact Hotch’s car is the only one absent. It seems Spencer is the last to arrive.

He expected to feel relieved, along with trickles of guilt _for_ feeling relieved, but instead he feels an unexpected clenching in his abdomen.

Spencer shakes his head and after taking a deep breath and leaving his car, he is soon in front of the door of Derek and Savannahs home, and hears the soft white noise of many voices overlapping.

_Here goes._

When he knocks on the front door, Spencer expects to be greeted by one of them. Instead, the sound of a fast patter of young feet precedes the door being flung open and to his surprise a little blond haired boy flings himself around Spencer’s legs.

“Uncle Spence!” A very enthusiastic Henry wails.

Spencer smiles fondly at his godson, patting his head and then kneeling down to hug him back properly.

“It’s good to see you too Henry.” Spencer murmurs into the small head of blond hair, still feeling a bit winded by receiving a near tackle by the near ten year old boy.

_Ten years…well, not quite, but still – I can’t believe it’s been that long._

Spencer feels a pang and finds he is squeezing the boy tighter. For a long time he never thought of himself as someone who would ever be good with children, it warms him perhaps more than he’s ever expressed that Henry seems to adore him this much.

He really should’ve at _least_ been making more of an effort to see at least him, Hank and Michael too.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to see you as much lately.” Spencer frowns and pulls back to look at Henry and gauge his reaction. _He really is much taller than he used to be, why do I feel like I’m just noticing now?_

Henry doesn’t seem too distressed, but he doesn’t quite look at Spencer’s eyes when he shrugs and says, “Its ok, Mom said you’re having a hard time because of what happened with Jack.” It’s certainly not untrue per se, just not the whole truth. “I understand – I didn’t like it either.”

Spencer feels a pang of sadness when a shadow of melancholy passes over the boy’s face. _This didn’t just affect me, or even just Hotch and Jack. I need to remember that._

“Hey.” Spencer murmurs and gently pats Henry’s face to bring the boys attention back to him. “Do you have your antique coins with you? Your Mom mentioned last time we talked you wanted to show them to me.” He makes sure to add a smile, despite the unpleasant feelings swirling in his gut.

The smile isn’t that hard, not with the grin brightening Henry’s face.

“Yeah! I got them at the table. Come on!”

Spencer quickly stands up as Henry grabs his hand and pulls him through the open door. The smell of garlic, worcestershire sauce and perfectly charring meat assault his senses, along with the sound of Jazz/Folk fusion music echoing from the Livingroom off to the right.

He is also brought to a standstill, Henry still holding onto his hand, when he sees JJ leaning against the stairway banister; clad in a yellow peasant blouse and black pants, hair up in a ponytail.

She’s in direct view of the door, and gathering by the soft smile on her face she likely overheard and saw the entire interaction between Henry and himself.

Spencer meets her eyes for a moment before flicking them away a bit awkwardly. In many ways, she knows him better than anyone – hiding anything from her will be hard.

“Uncle Spence come _on!_ ” Henry pulls insistently on his arm.

“Henry, don’t pull on his arm like that.” JJ says with a loving smile.

He looks only vaguely apologetic, but he does murmur “sorry” before stopping – still holding onto Spencer’s hand.

Spencer looks down at the boy with a quirked smile before looking back up at JJ.

“Hey Spence, I’m glad you could come.” She is perhaps a bit more hesitant than usual in reaching forward for a hug, not quite sure where his boundaries are at the moment, but without a thought he reaches out and soon they’re giving each other a half hug. Spencer still has his other arm in Henry’s possession, and JJ is resting her hand briefly on top of her sons head.

“Me too.” He certainly means it more than he did a few minutes ago, but there’s still a tinge of discomfort lingering as a result of his worry over what they might say, or ask him about.

The worry largely stems from the real possibility that if they _do_ ask him, he won’t be able to sufficiently lie.

His darker thoughts are interrupted by the boy practically radiating anxiety at his side, jumping a bit and side to side on his feet.

JJ releases him, still smiling though her eyes are wondering as she looks at him carefully.

_Please, don’t ask me anything._

Spencer tries to seem nonchalant. It’s obvious she doesn’t buy it, but thankfully she doesn’t say a word.

She shakes off the look and motions towards the Livingroom with a slight laugh.

“Everyone’s through there right now, I think Derek and Will are betting over which can make their baby laugh the loudest.” Her eyes roll.

Spencer snorts. “That’s…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Yes.”

“Indeed, but our boys seem to be enjoying their efforts. Along with the rest of us, I’m pretty sure Rossi is the bathroom right now laughing his guts out. Derek tried performing a rather…colourful rendition of the Single Ladies dance, before leaving to check on the food outside.”

Spencer loses it at the thought. Even Henry giggles. “Oh my God, _really?_ ”

“Unfortunately, really.” JJ sighs with a smile.

Spencer really hopes someone recorded that.

They soon reach the aforementioned room doorway.

Everyone; Emily, Garcia, Tara, Luke, Will, Savannah, and the babies, Michael and Hank, are there. All of them are sitting on various couches and chairs, except for Derek – whom Spencer can see is outside at the grill, through the glass door in the back – and Rossi, who is presumably trying not to laugh himself to death in the bathroom. Will and Luke have Michael and Hank on a play mat between two couches, upon which sit the women, and are from the looks of things reading them an animal alphabet book.

Spencer watches this with amusement.

None of them appear to have noticed him yet.

JJ reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

“Hotch said he and Jack would try to come.” JJ says, side-eyeing Spencer. “But he didn’t sound all that sure, I know he and Jack are taking some time – just the two of them.”

_Makes sense._

All he does is nod, doing a fairly good job of containing any reaction on his part. He thinks he sees JJ frown a bit, but doesn’t look at her to check. She just lets her hand fall, gently stroking his arm a bit. “Dinner is almost ready; we’ll be in here when you and Henry are ready.” JJ smiles at them both before entering the room and sitting on the ground beside Will, Luke and the babies. Garcia proceeds to join them, Michael becoming quickly fascinated by the pink feather in her hair.

Spencer inhales a shaky breath.

It feels…so normal.

 _Too_ normal.

Moments like this almost never happen.

Spencer is almost expecting a serial killer to spontaneously appear right in the middle of it all.

Almost always, these moments make him feel happy, and free. These people are his family.

But not all the family is here.

No matter that Spencer wouldn’t have known what to do, or not do if Hotch were here; it’s plain that there is a piece missing in this scene.

_I should be relieved. Why does it hurt? And why am I not able to -_

“Are you ok Uncle Spence?” Henry asks, interrupting Spencer’s thoughts in the process.

Spencer sighs and looks down into the troubled eyes of his young godson. In an ideal world, _far_ too young to look that worried at all – it’s a look Spencer is sure he graced constantly as a child; growing up always worried, about his Mom, taking care of her, making sure she ate even on her worst days, reminding her to bathe when it got really bad…

_I **have** to be ok._

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Spencer smiles and squeezes Henry’s hand.

Henry nods, “Coins will make you feel better.”

Spencer huffs.

Honestly, Spencer is proud of how perceptive Henry is becoming, even when he is the subject of it.

“Then you better show them to me.” Spencer utters softly.

Henry’s face is pure sun as he tugs, gently this time, on Spencer’s hand and pulls him into the room.

Spencer is immediately assaulted by happy greetings, Derek even takes a break from the grill to rush in when Savannah loudly tells him “Spencer is here!”, at which point she then passes Hank off to a slightly bewildered Spencer saying “Here, take your namesake, I really gotta pee” since Rossi chooses that moment to re-enter the room.

There are hugs from everyone, and a hair ruffle from Derek, all the while Spencer carefully holds Hank Spencer, the little boy clinging to his shirt and smiling widely as he tries to grab locks of Spencer’s curly hair – like father like son.

It’s all overwhelming, but blissfully distracting – more so than he thought it would be.

After the initial cacophony of his arrival Henry does manage to show Spencer his collection of antique coins before dinner, including a 1909 edition penny with Abraham Lincoln on its face.

For a moment, his inner turmoil fades into a distant background.

Turns out, it’s _not_ a serial killer that suddenly appears in the middle of it all, but something far less probable.

 

~

 

An hour passes and they finish dinner; barbecued ribs with homemade sauce, garlic mashed potatoes and maple roasted Brussel sprouts.

Most of them are still sitting in their respective chairs at the large, cherry wood dining room table.

Rossi is in the kitchen getting desert, apparently he made Tiramisu from scratch – Derek is in there assisting, much to Rossi’s displeasure if the groans and corrections coming from that general area are any indication.

And Savannah and JJ are currently putting the babies down for a nap in Hanks room.

Leaving Spencer, Henry, Will, Luke, Garcia, Tara and Emily at the table conversing.

Well, everyone _else_ is conversing, Spencer is quiet and Henry is playing a game on his phone; something about sweets and matching colours.

Spencer isn’t really paying attention; he’d started politely tuning everyone out near the end of dinner, letting himself get lost in the indistinct chatter of their voices and listing every different language translation publication of Shakespeare since the 18th century and every murder in the United States that occurred between the hours 4 and 6am on or near National monuments.

In short, Spencer is distracting himself.

What had started as a good, relatively normal family dinner became less so as time went on.

Nothing _bad_ happened, there was all the good natured ribbing and story sharing that is always present at the best of times, for the most part everyone sensed that Spencer was a bit more distant than usual and so let him be – mostly, no one would let him out of a game of Heads Up halfway through dinner.

It just eventually got to the point where Spencer became increasingly surprised, and then suspicious of how _much_ everyone was leaving him alone – _especially_ Garcia. He loves all these people, but they’re not always the most…restrained of individuals.

It took him longer than it should’ve to realize they were doing so on purpose. It was in the way Garcia would look at him, start to say something, shake her head and seem to  change her mind on the spot, or how every fifteen minutes JJ would find some excuse to touch him in some way – a pat on the shoulder, or the hand, Spencer isn’t even sure she’s aware she’s doing it. Even the looks Rossi casts his way every once in a while, nothing alarming or anything but casual, but consistent.

It was all very odd, and clearly they were trying not to be obvious about it.

It made Spencer feel a bit off balance, and wary. Did they know something he _didn’t?_

Why were they acting…so _careful_ around him. It was atypical.

Spencer considered the possibility it was because of what happened with Mr. Scratch and Jack, but it didn’t seem to make sense to Spencer that what occurred would warrant this level of masked caution towards _him_ specifically.

It didn’t take long for Spencer to realize something else.

Excluding the comment JJ made when Spencer first arrived, no one ever mentioned Hotch once, not in _any_ personal or work related matter.

It was when the multiple possibilities of _that_ struck him, half-fueled by paranoia ( _do they know? No, no they would say something, how could they know? No, no, then why?_ ), he’d begun tuning them out and distracting himself with various mental minutia in the process of trying calm his fast increasing heart rate.

Spencer is still doing it now, focused somewhere on an early 20th Century Italian translation of Shakespeare ‘ _l'opera completa di Shakespeare.’_

So far, it’s only been partially effective.

His foot is lightly tapping the ground in a nervous tick, and not squirming in his seat is becoming a real challenge.

_Il tuo stesso sé è vero e deve seguire, come la notte del giorno-_

Spencer’s ability to regulate his emotions and thoughts is really, _severely_ depleted.

It makes him feel uneasy.

_He, H-Aaron, can’t be the only reason._

Spencer begins scratching the inside of his wrist, but quickly stops and realizes his hands are shaking a little, and he’s started to feel tingly.

“Spencer?”

_-non potresti essere falso a nessuno – What, what’s going on?_

When Spencer reaches up a hand to move hair out of his eyes, he realizes his hairline is moistening with sweat.

He frowns.

_What the hell –_

“Spencer!”

_This…why is this familiar to him? His head is, muddled, foggy, but something this is – think, think, think._

Spencer puts his head in his hands.

_“Spencer!”_

What sounds like two voices practically scream in his ear, and he feels his body move in a quick, abrupt movement.

Someone shook him.

He jerks so strongly he nearly falls out of the chair, which does tip and would’ve likely fallen if someone hadn’t obviously grabbed it and kept Spencer from flat on his back.

“What?” Spencer automatically says, his voice sounding dry even to his own ears. His vision, which he realizes had gone cloudy, begins to clear.

When it does, the first thing Spencer notices is the face of a worried Derek.

The second thing is _everyone_. They’re all staring at him. Will is holding a scared looking Henry in his arms, the little boy trying to escape and go to Spencer on the other side of the table. Tara, Luke and Garcia are standing nearby each with varying expressions of worry and concern, JJ and Savannah have obviously come back – because the two are also close, Rossi doesn’t look _quite_ as worried as the rest, and Spencer doesn’t know why but he’s almost assumed a protective stance on Spencer’s side opposite Derek.

“We’ve been trying to get your attention for the past minute. You weren’t responding, and then you started shaking, it didn’t look _quite_ like a seizure…” Derek is watching Spencer carefully.

“Not a seizure.” Rossi says.

Spencer whips his head to face him.

The look on Rossi’s face is… _knowing._

At his peak, Spencer could probably figure out what the hell just happened but right now, those sudden sweats and shaking haven’t exactly stopped, even if his vision has cleared.

_What is happening to me?_

“I…I’m just tired.” Spencer tries feebly. “Haven’t, slept enough I think.” Spencer clenches a fist, and rubs his eyes with his other hand.

Everyone looks more than a little skeptical.

“Honey, do we need to call someone, are you ok?” Garcia moves cautiously around the table to stand near Derek.

Her worried eyes are even worse than Derek’s.

He _can’t_ take this.

“I need to use the bathroom.” _I need to be alone._

 “Spencer-” It’s Luke.

_No._

Spencer quickly gets up and all but dashes out of the room, ignoring the faint calls of his name from those behind him – including one from Henry, which finds its way through the fog and breaks his heart, but he can’t stop.

_But…_

_I just…I need to – I have to be alone._

He is up the stairs and in the large, cream-tiled bathroom in less than 30seconds, hastily locking the door behind him.

Spencer just stands there, facing the door and – _quiet._

The shaking, the sweats, the thick fog in his mind – all that stopped the moment he closed that door.

On the tails of the clearing fog comes the revelation of what just transpired, and _why –_ the evidence flashing before his eyes and crashing over him in waves.

_On occasion if an individual is in the presence others when…there will be physical symptoms…sweating, sudden onset shaking of the extremities…forcing the individual to leave the room and be alone…this will only occur for the first meeting…_

_Oh –_ Spencer inhales sharply, eyes wide as he stares at the bathroom door.

He lifts a faintly trembling hand up to his face, covering his eyes and forcing himself to breathe deeply.

All he hears is his heart, still pounding loudly with the speed of his run up the stairs – and perhaps for an entirely new reason.

He swallows. _Why, where –_

“Spencer? Are you alright in there?” It’s Rossi.

Again, Spencer jumps a bit in surprise. He didn’t even hear anyone coming up the stairs, but of course someone would come after him – the way he left the room wasn’t exactly normal.

_Shit. Quick, say something, and stop panicking._

“Yes, I’m fine.” Spencer winces when his voice comes out sounding squeaky.

There’s a weighted pause.

“You would tell me if it were something serious, right?” Rossi asks, although it sounds more like a parental statement than question.

_Maybe._

Spencer, not trusting his voice, hums a loud affirmative.

“Hm, alright. We’ll be down here, I can’t guarantee your privacy forever, JJ wanted to come up.”

Spencer breathes in shakily. No way would _she_ have left him alone, not after that.

What did Rossi say to get her to stay downstairs?

It doesn’t matter, not right now. He needs to go, and Spencer needs to finish having a panic attack before –

“Ok.”

“You’ll be alright Spencer.” Rossi murmurs softly through the door before leaving.

Spencer frowns. _That’s a…odd choice of words._ He shakes his head and doesn’t think more of it.

Instead, Spencer tries to steady his breathing and listens.

A few seconds pass. Nothing happens.

_Was I…wrong?_

_If I am, what I did just – what was that downstairs?_

Spencer hopes he _is_ wrong. He doesn’t want this, not now, not when so much is already out of his control.

It’s like the intricate, unknowable foundations of the universe hate him or-

“Spencer?”

-something.

_Oh no._

**_No._ **

_This can’t be happening._

Spencer feels like his heart stops and his throat shrivels, everything in him is pulsating shock.

He curses his eidetic memory, because there will _never_ be a day when he doesn’t remember that voice.

How he manages to turn around, he doesn’t know, but somehow his feet are moving and before Spencer can even begin to prepare himself – he sees _her._

Exactly as he remembers, the – the _one time_ he saw her.

“Maeve.” His voice barely a whisper seems to echo, eyes wide and disbelieving - he can’t _not_ stare.

Spencer feels moist heat build behind his eyes.

_There she lays; there they both lay, surrounded by a large, growing pool of their own blood. One of them is the woman he loves, he wasn’t fast enough, he didn’t do enough and she –_

The tears fall.

Right now, there is nothing but shock ringed with painful, lingering memory.

Those Dove grey eyes shine and her smile is sad as he stares at him, her arms hugging tightly to her body as though holding her _self_ back.

She takes a few steps forward, each one is silent. There is no sound, no breath or heartbeat but his own.

For the briefest of nanoseconds when he saw her standing in front of him, he forgot she was dead.

The _second_ he remembered was a distant ache coiling itself around his chest.

“Yes, it’s – it’s me. I’m, I’m here.” Her voice is breathy and tentative, her entire manner screams terrified and desperately trying to hide it.

Spencer’s heart squeezes, painfully.

 “I know this must be a shock, believe me I get it, I wasn’t expecting to go from-” She pauses here, form rippling for the slightest moment as she hesitates. “-to being your-”

 _No._ “No. Don’t, I…” _If you say one more word I’m liable to pass out. Actually, I might be ok with that._

Spencer can’t believe he’s here, in Derek Morgan’s _bathroom_ , talking to _Maeve_.

He would’ve felt less unsettled by a serial killer appearing out of nowhere.

Spencer knows the reality of the situation hasn’t quite made landfall yet.

And when it does, he doesn’t want to be here.

_This isn’t happening._

_I’m dreaming._

_You’re not dreaming._

_I wish I were._

Spencer presses his palms tightly to his face. The tears have stopped at least, but that’s likely more from shock than anything else.

_I don’t want to deal with this, not on top of -_

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer freezes. His hands fall away, exposing his weary, reddened face, and he looks up at – _Maeve._

_Christ._

“What?”

Maeve breathes in shakily; her face tilted towards him with deep sorrow etched in the lines of her face.

“I don’t know why I’m here, why this is happening, I wish I had answers for you – I wish. I know this is sudden, Spencer, I’m so-”

“Don’t.” Spencer breathes out. She abruptly stops speaking. “You don’t need to, this isn’t your fault.”

_It’s mine._

The words are old words he’d repeated over and over to himself for weeks, months after she died.

Spencer doesn’t know what she sees, but suddenly her arms fall and her eyes begin to shine with tears that can never be shed.

Guiding Spirits can’t cry.

 _Because of you._ An inner voice whispers like a curse.

“Spencer-”

_No. This is too much._

He knows, rationally, he can’t run from this, but at the moment – he sure as hell wants to try.

Before she can utter another word Spencer quickly turns around, unlocks the door and runs out.

Hoping he can slip away before anyone notices, he reaches the front door, quickly slips on his shoes without bothering to tie the laces and dons his coat.

Spencer has the front door open and is about to leave, but someone _does_ notice.

“Spencer? What’s going on?”

It’s Emily.

He doesn’t turn around and keeps his grip tight on the door knob.

“I need to go home, I’m – I’m not feeling well. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Spencer wait-”

He doesn’t.

Spencer flings open the door and rushes out.

Within a minute he’s sped down the walk towards his car and is in the front seat turning on the ignition before it begins to hit him.

_Oh god._

_Maeve._

_Maeve is here._

_And she’s…she’s my –_ He can’t even _think_ the word.

Spencer sees movement at the front door and windows of the house as he pulls away from the curb and drives off.

_Why now, why did this have to happen now?_

_Right when I was dealing with – with Aaron._

“Son of a bitch.” Spencer clenches his hands around the steering wheel.

_Perfect. Just perfect._

For some reason, all his churning emotions, the shock, the fact that the universe has decided being bombarded with the spectre of a woman he loved and lost in the most cruel of ways at the _same fucking time_ feelings he’d thought _long_ dealt with are gouging him like knives - _all of it_ , has decided morphing into burning anger is a great idea.

At the moment he’d rather take anger over crippling sorrow.

Spencer does somehow make it home without incident, his mind a red haze the whole drive, and he’s pretty sure he bites his lip hard enough to bleed.

Breathing heavily, Spencer quickly pulls into the parking lot of his apartment building, turns off the car and just – _stops._

The sudden quiet feels like the bang of a Judges gavel.

He hears the pinging of his phone going off over and over again but the loud angry rhythm of his breathing drowns it out.

Spencer bangs his head, _hard_ , against the headrest.

“Why…why this…” Spencer growls out and closes his eyes, keeping his hands clenched around the steering wheel as he tries desperately to regain some peace of mind – if that’s even possible.

Eyes; Dove grey intertwining with stormy steel flash across Spencer’s imagination.

Then, all he sees is Maeve’s warm, auburn hair.

_How can this be anything but a curse?_

“ _I’m_ sorry.” He whispers.

Within moments all his anger drains away. He reaches up and wipes the lingering traces of tears away from his face.

Suddenly all Spencer wants is to sleep.

Morning can take care of the rest.

After taking a minute to compose himself, Spencer leaves his car – locking it behind him – and makes his way to his apartment.

Already he knows that when he sleeps, it will be old nightmares visiting him tonight.

 

 

 

Spencer doesn’t notice the man observing him from near the perimeter of the parking lot, encased in the night shadow of a nearby tree.

And of course, when Spencer enters the building, he doesn’t notice the same man pulling out a phone and pressing speed dial on a number listed only as “A”.

The man is simply doing what he’s told, continuing to watch this building – apprising “A” of any changes.

Someone is very interested in Dr. Spencer Reid.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

_"Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares.”_

_~ Aman Jassal_

 

 

 

The dream is a familiar one.

_Maeve stands before him, her face all smiles and happiness. They’re standing alone in an endless, dark room. The only light is that which circles the two of them; painful, cold light._

_The echoes of various whispers chatter loudly all around._

_“Save me.”_

_Her voice is lost among the voices now screaming in Spencer’s ear, but he can read the words clearly on Maeve’s lips._

_He wants to, God he wants to, but the voice…they’re screaming, he can’t –_

_“I can’t. They’re loud. Too loud!” Spencer yells. He wants to cover his ears, run away, and find some peace away from the voices._

_He can’t. Spencer is unable to move, unblinking, watery eyes fixed on Maeve approximately five feet away._

_Are his ears bleeding? They must be._

_“STOP!” He wails._

_Miraculously, the voices stop. Yet, the silence is anything but reassuring; it carries with it a tingling fear that something is very, very wrong._

_“You can save me Spencer, I know you can. I trust you.”_

_Maeve’s voice cuts him like blades._

_Spencer finds he is able to take a step towards her, but only a step._

_“Don’t, don’t trust me. I can’t save you – I’m cursed.” The words are distant even to him. Around them a fog begins to build, licking at their heels. “You have to leave, please.”_

_He needs her to know, Spencer needs to convince her to leave. She can’t be here. It’s not safe._

_Maeve tilts her head sadly._

_“No I don’t, you’ll find a way to save me. You always find a way.”_

_Spencer’s heart breaks. “No, I don’t.”_

_Maeve rolls her eyes and laughs, like what he said was a joke. “Of course you do, you’re Spencer Reid.”_

_The tips of fingers are chill with the fog rising, twirling around their legs._

_“And Spencer Reid always saves the people he loves.”_

_That voice is new; it is a voice that turns his legs and heart to stone._

_Diane._

_She appears beside him, seeming to grow out from the darkness. One side of her face is caked with dried blood._

_Maeve nods in response to her words._

_“Here. I can help.” She whispers into his ear, her lips icy and hard like marble._

_To Spencer’s growing horror, he can only watch as Diane gently lifts his arm and he realizes there is now a gun grasped tightly in his hand – pointed directly at Maeve._

_“No, no, please!”_

_“Go on, save her.” Diane reaches out and curls her hand around his on the trigger._

_Maeve smiles widely. “See? I knew you could do it.”_

_He fires the gun._

_And everything moves in slow motion. He can see the bullet cutting through the brightened fog, parting it._

_His mouth opens in a silent scream as it makes it mark. Maeve, smile still on her face, slowly collapses._

_But – wait, the bullet is still moving._

_There was someone else behind her._

_“There is nothing more to be done.” It’s a deep, rasping voice Spencer feels he knows better than his own._

_Aaron._

_Directly in the path of the same bullet._

_Oh god._

_“Not, not him too – please.” Spencer breathes heavily, uselessly pleading to the darkness, unable to move as the bullet strikes -_

“ _NO!_ ” Spencer cries as he wakes, lying on his back, exposed to the cool air as sweat evaporates off his skin; his pale green comforter roughly discarded off to the side by his kicking legs.

Vestiges of the dream, the _nightmare_ , cling to his consciousness. They are slick, oily weights that bring the unrelenting, terrifying images of Maeve and Hotch _dead_ , killed by…by his _own_ hand.

Spencer covers his face with both hands, brokenly breathing as he turns onto his stomach and presses his face _hard_ into his pillow.

The goose down does little to quiet the insistent sobs emanating from his throat.

He has had the nightmare before. It visited him consistently for a long time after Maeve died.

This time…it was different.

They were _both_ there.

He had to watch himself _kill_ both -

_I can never sleep again._

Spencer knows it was only a dream, but it felt so very real – the worst nightmares often do.

_I would rather cut off both my hands than see that ever, **ever** again._

Telling himself it wasn’t real doesn’t help, because it was real – at least partially, Hotch is still very much alive, but Maeve…he might as well have shot her himself.

And apparently his subconscious decided to recreate that pain by adding Hotch into the horror.

The exact scenario may not have been real, but Spencer feels it so intensely it may as well have been; it’s in the tears he’s desperately trying to stop, the angry sobs screaming their way from his mouth, and the sweat puddling in his sheets.

Spencer forces himself to breathe deeply for a few minutes. He then lifts his face away from the pillow; now drenched with tears.

His nose is clogged so he needs to breathe through his mouth, the wet sound loud in the quiet of his bedroom.

“I…I need a shower.” Spencer mumbles.

Hoping to distance himself from the nightmare, Spencer gets up on shaky legs and makes for the bathroom adjoined to his room.

It takes every crumb of strength he still possesses to _not_ obsessively focus on the nightmare while he goes through his morning routine on little more than autopilot.

Even so, flashes of faces he loves, bleeding, dying from bullets, make their way in on occasion.

It’s what makes nightmares so relentlessly horrible, the fact that they _don’t_ fade into the ether when you wake – they stay with you, for what feels like always.

Spencer tries humming Beatles music to while he showers in effort to calm himself down.

It doesn’t work, but he manages to get through showering, brushing his teeth and getting dressed in simple beige slacks and a white button up, all without crying again.

He’ll take any win he can get.

It isn’t until Spencer has stripped his bed and is in the process of remaking it that he sees his phone upside down on his bedside table.

And memories of last night rush into him.

He stiffens.

_Maeve._

Spencer quickly sits down on the edge of the bed; elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands.

He didn’t see her last night, not during the drive home or when he arrived back. Spencer passingly considers that maybe it never happened, maybe he really is losing it. But no, whatever it means, it _was_ real.

Maeve is here, somewhere, and she’s – “My…Guiding Spirit.” Spencer says out loud for the first time.

_No wonder I had the nightmare again._

Spencer sighs and lets his hands fall limply between his legs.

If there is one semi-positive thing he can say about the nightmare, he knew _exactly_ what he was feeling when in it – it may have been majorly gut-wrenching fear, but at least he knew his heart and mind in the moment.

Now that he’s _awake_ , with the chaos of yesterday melding with the memories of his less than satisfying sleep, suddenly all Spencer feels is… _lost._

It’s unbearable. 

_What do I do **now?**_

Spencer looks at his phone, half-remembering all the incoming calls and texts he’d received last night. He feels pangs of guilt for worrying everyone, especially since he knows he didn’t bother responding to anything and just shut the phone off when he got home.

Spencer is nervous to leave his room, afraid at what or – _whom_ , he might find.

Before he does anything else, morning coffee or any other further sanity crushing experiences happen, he needs to let everyone know – in the barest sense of the word, he’s fine.

It _is_ the truth, if fine means ‘not dead’.

“Here we go.” Spencer mumbles and reaches for his phone. “Wonder how mad they are.”

He turns on the phone; soon the background greets him – an old group photo of the team from at least six years ago.

It causes him to smile, but that is soon stopped in its tracks when it loudly begins to ping with incoming messages, missed call notices etc, most from last night but a lot from this morning alone – dozens and dozens of them, even though it’s barely nine o’clock.

Guilt curls inside him.

“Damn it.” Spencer curses.

Spencer knows if he doesn’t respond quickly he’ll likely soon have a group of worried, possibly angry, people banging on his door.

Without further thought, Spencer first opens his text messages.

It takes him a few minutes to respond to those. To his surprise, no one was angry per se, more worried than anything. And as he suspected, there were threats from multiple sources, mostly JJ, Garcia, Derek and Emily, that if they didn’t hear from him soon they _would_ be coming over.

He tried to reassure them all as calmly as possible. Saying things like, ‘he really just isn’t feeling that well’ and ‘he’s sorry for worrying them’, ‘I just wanted to get home and sleep’, ‘only woke up a few minutes ago’.

All those reasons are true, and a part of him questions why he isn’t telling them the whole truth.

He can’t, not yet.

The very idea increases his anxiety by a thousand fold.

Responses to _his_ messages begin to come in when he’s still responding to others. Thankfully, no one makes a repeat threat to break down his door, but there are implications that if he does this again he’ll be in, as the expression goes, “deep shit” – that one all but said, if lovingly, by Garcia.

Everyone seems content to give him his space, even when he brushes off some offers of visits to bring him things, food or a complete Blu-Ray collection of the early Dr. Who seasons with rare reunion commentary, in effort to help.

He would really rather not be bombarded with people at the moment.

He does make a promise to Henry however to visit him sometime during the upcoming week. Out of everyone, Spencer feels the worst for worrying him.

And when Luke asks if they’re still on for their game today, Spencer actually finds himself saying yes.

Maybe getting outside will clear his head.

Luke’s surprisingly easy going and very much _not_ intrusive presence is something Spencer can honestly use.

But that won’t be for a couple of hours yet.

Spencer is just about to set his phone aside when it pings with another text.

He looks at the screen.

Spencer inhales sharply.

It’s Hotch.

His heart, a traitorous thing, starts to beat faster.

“Oh hell.”

He has doubts over his ability to converse with the man right now, especially after last night and the…nightmare, but this _is_ only texting. Spencer should be fine so long as Hotch doesn’t decide to call.

_Calm down. Just breathe._

Maybe after all this he should bump up that trip to visit his mother, and then take a little vacation; far away and devoid of people.

_Relax._

Spencer takes a deep breath and opens the text.

_Are you alright? JJ, Rossi and Garcia contacted me. Said you left in a hurry last night, and that you weren’t well or responding to any of them. - H_

He sighs. Of course, of _course_ somebody told him.

Spencer isn’t entirely sure why, but he’s not necessarily surprised. Hotch isn’t exactly an easy man to ignore, as Spencer well knows.

He sighs.

_I’m better now, and I just finished talking with everyone. No need to worry. - S_

Almost immediately Hotch responds.

_I’m glad to hear it. I hear there was a troupe just about ready to bring down your door. – H_

Spencer snorts. _Apparently. – S_

A minute passes, Spencer is about to put down the phone but to his surprise, there’s another text from Hotch.

_Are you really alright? – H_

Spencer gulps. For a second, his thumbs hover over ‘n’ and ‘o’, but that would invite more conversation and Spencer can’t discuss this with Hotch of _all_ people.

_Yes. – S_

It’s a terse and somewhat defensive response, at least he feels like it is.

If Spencer’s mind were clearer he might have come up with a response better than the obligatory ‘not ok, but I don’t want to talk, so I’ll tell you want to hear’ response.

Spencer knows if he doesn’t find some way to actually _be_ ok, he won’t be able to keep the people in his life at bay forever.

He’ll figure it out.

_You’re lying to yourself._

_Shut up._

His phone vibrates with Hotch’s response.

_So long as you’re alright. Don’t be a stranger. – H_

Spencer frowns at the message.

It’s not unlike Hotch to not _push_ him necessarily, but that was almost too easy, Spencer knows from past experience that if he starts to back himself into a self-destructive corner, Hotch – in some ways more so than anyone else – will _not_ let him get away with it.

Spencer passes it off as overanalyzing on his part.

At the moment, there’s really nothing else keeping him in his room.

He slips his phone into his pocket and tries his best to fortify himself if Maeve is indeed on the other side of his bedroom door.

With his hand on the knob, Spencer takes a series of deep, purposeful breathes before carefully opening it.

It isn’t as much of a shock as it was the first time, but it does shake him deeply seeing Maeve in front of him.

His hands involuntary clench.

This time, she is sitting on his sofa, looking at a book of Latin Odes he’d left open the day before.

It is eerily reminiscent of the many early fantasies Spencer had of showing her his extensive library here. She loved books as much as him, and he’d pictured time and time again the two of them on the couch, embracing and reading – just, comfortable and relaxed with each other, maybe after recently waking up, each with a cup of coffee or tea (she liked Jasmine tea).

Or maybe, one day there would be a child or two.

Even though it’s been many years since her passing, with the very real echo of her here in front of his eyes, he finds the memory of those lovers’ fantasies that they never got to fulfil painful to recall.

The reality of losing her hasn’t gotten easier, but the grief is not as sharp as it once was.

Additionally, if recent events have shown him anything, is that while he was in love with her – he was, however subconsciously, harbouring feelings for someone else.

And _that_ makes this feel so much worse.

_Don’t think about that now._

Spencer shakes his head and feels decidedly uncomfortable (among other things) as he attempts a casual cough to get her attention when he walks by on his way to the kitchen. Yes, he’s out of coffee (note to self; get some groceries for god’s sake) but right now even water sounds like heaven.

“Oh! You’re awake. I’ve been waiting for you, it seemed like you could use the sleep.”

Her tone is far _too_ casual to be genuine, given the circumstances.

Spencer hears her, but doesn’t turn around until he gets his glass of water, maybe lingering a bit longer than needed, and steels himself before re-entering the Livingroom.

When he does, he finds Maeve watching him careful eyes. If she overheard the scream which awoke him from his nightmare, she’s not saying anything – for which he is grateful.

Not quite looking at her, Spencer awkwardly stands beside the couch and drinks his water.

“Yeah.”

It isn’t the most elegant of responses, but…what the _hell_ is a _proper_ response in this situation?

Spencer knows he can’t be the only one to have ever gone through something like this, but right now – to him, it kind of feels like he is.

Unless you go searching for them, you don’t exactly hear a lot of the Guardian Angel/Guiding Spirit meeting stories that _don’t_ start off well.

Perhaps what’s making this especially difficult, is that Spencer has already spent more time in her presence now than he did when she was alive.

“We should, probably talk.” Maeve posits with a touch of nervousness.

He doesn’t want to, but…avoiding her will likely be impossible.

Spencer can’t for the _life of him_ think of a reason why she’s here, and apparently, what the universe _thinks_ he needs her for – if anything, her being here _now_ is horrible timing – if there could ever be good timing.

Thinking that just makes him feel guilty.

She is _here_ because of him, in more way than one. It may be in a slightly different way – but this has got to be at least as hard for her as it is for him.

“I suppose.” Spencer responds, finally sitting on the far end of the couch. As he does so he notices that even though it seems like Maeve is sitting on it, there is no dent to prove there is any weight being distributed where she is.

She is both here, and yet not here.

And Spencer can’t bring himself to look directly at her.

The nightmare still fresh in his mind doesn’t help.

“Can I, ask you something?” She asks, hesitant.

He nods, slowly. “Alright.” Spencer takes another careful sip of water.

“How long has it been? I haven’t been able to figure it out for sure.”

Spencer pauses with the glass to his lips. It takes him longer than normal to lower his now empty glass; resting it precariously on the arm of the couch.

“Almost five years.”

“Oh, right.” Maeve pauses. Out of the corner of his eye Spencer notices she’s nervously rubbing her hands together. “I mean, I knew it couldn’t have been that long, but that’s still – shorter than normal.”

It’s true. Regardless of Jack, and now him, loved ones appearing as Guiding Spirits less than ten years after their death isn’t common statistically speaking. There are many theories, but no certain answers as to why.

A few increasingly awkward minutes of silence pass.

Eventually, no matter how he feels, Spencer figures it’s his turn to speak. There are many ways they could dance around this, but something Maeve said last night – he’d been going over it again and again during the past few minutes – catches in his mind, so he decides to plunge right into it.

“Last night, you said you don’t know why you’re here.”

Like with the statistics on the correlation between death and the _appearance_ of a Guiding Spirit, a “G.S.” arriving with little to no comprehension of their purpose is also rare - even rarer still is when those two coincide, and it appears those odds are defying themselves on both ends right in front of him.

“Right.” Maeve nods and adjusts position to face Spencer more fully – though he still isn’t meeting her eyes. “I actually, appeared – I suppose, a few days ago. You were at a Café,” Spencer tenses, _she’s been around this **whole time** and I didn’t know? _ “I tried to get your attention, but I guess - you weren’t ready.”

_I don’t think it’s possible to ever be “ready” for something like this._

“I felt awkward following you around when you didn’t know I was there, but I didn’t seem to have a choice really – I couldn’t be farther than a room over, sorry about that.” Maeve laughs a bit, but it rings hollow.

His heart pangs. _She’s trying so hard._ Spencer looks down at the arm of the couch, frowning.

“Since I didn’t really have any inkling when I arrived, I thought maybe I was supposed to figure it out before you saw me, but, apparently not. The only thing I thought of was that maybe, we-” Maeve motions between them with her arms. “-are meant to figure this out together?”

At that, Spencer finally lifts his gaze and looks at her.

Maeve is radiating uncertainty and caution, arms and legs held close to her body, so different from what he remembers about her, and she’s watching him with tentatively questioning eyes – yet through it all there is determination.

Spencer suspects the reason why she’s _this_ obviously wary is because of him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but finds he is unable to as he just… _looks_ at her; intelligent, yet gentle almond eyes stare right back.

_She’s here._

_Maeve._

_She’s actually **here.**_

Spencer feels a lump in his throat and swallows before breaking eye contact. “Um, maybe. I don’t really have any ideas right now.” _Because I haven’t let myself think about **this**._

“Alright, well,” Maeve looks off to the side and curls a bit of stray behind her ear in a preserved habit. “Can you catch me up then? Last night I noticed there are some new people in your life.” There is melancholy in her words, but Spencer would be hard-pressed _not_ to notice the genuine interest as well. Still, catch _up?_ It’s not like she left for years and is suddenly back in the flesh! He can’t talk like that looming reality isn’t present, like they’re just two _“friends” “catching up”,_ they were never just friends – that was the problem. _Why am I getting angry?_ “Talk to me, it’s, it’s been so _long_ Spencer-”

“Because you were – _are,_ dead.” Spencer has his hands clenched tightly together in his lap. He hadn’t meant to speak, but when she started talking about – the words were out before he could stop, barely audible and resigned.

Spencer feels her gaze like a very real and physically present spotlight shining on him.

“Yes.” Her voice is soft and tender.

Spencer sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” For the moment, Maeve doesn’t say anymore.

The rumbling sounds of the pipes in the apartment walls and the nearby roaring engines of cars are the only sounds that pierce the silence that descends.

Spencer feels trapped in it.

That is, until a startlingly loud much closer sound breaks it.

_What the-?_

Spencer whips his head around to look at the door; frowning.

Someone is knocking.

He’s not meeting with Luke until later, and regardless Spencer is meeting him _at_ the park.

There’s no one Spencer is expecting, unless one of the team has made good on their threat regardless of his response.

There’s another knock.

Spencer sighs, and looks briefly at Maeve before standing up.

“Just a sec.” He mumbles and moves around the couch.

“It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.” She says, still sitting on the couch.

Spencer stops moving at her words.

_Right._

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

_Right._

Yet another knock, more insistent, causes Spencer to open his eyes and quickly continue moving towards the door.

“I’m coming!”

With his hand on the doorknob, Spencer peeks through the peephole and promptly stiffens.

_Oh…shit._

His heart rate accelerates a few notches – could be from anxiety, surprise or something else, probably all of the above.

_What is he **doing** here?_

Spencer steps away to unlock the door, and then opens it as calmly as possible – not even sure why he’s bothering with his hand trembling the way it is.

“Hi Hotch.” Spencer actually manages to sound half-way decent as he greets the man standing calmly outside his door.

Hotch is wearing a casual, dark brown jacket and a light blue shirt with dark jeans.

In short, this is one of the few times Spencer has seen in him in full casual wear – and he looks…good.

Out of sight, Spencer’s hand, still on the doorknob clenches.

The fact that he knows Maeve is somewhere behind him is largely what’s fueling this building inner panic.

Not because Hotch is going to see her, that’s impossible, but because he’ll have both of them in the same room.

And that…he’s barely holding together as it is.

“Hello Reid.” Hotch’s lips quirk in a small smile for a moment.

It occurs to him this is the first time since the hospital they have been alone together, well, relatively speaking.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably on his feet, feigning further tiredness, rubbing his eyes and not quite looking at Hotch.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

Hotch sighs, and Spencer finds himself feeling nervous. Out of all the people he expected to be out here when he heard the knocking, Hotch wasn’t one of them.

In fact, Spencer is fairly certain Hotch has never come to his apartment, alone, on his own fruition before – certainly not in casual garb.

“You weren’t telling me the truth, and I came to make sure you really were ok.” The answer is an honest and straightforward one; he wouldn’t have expected anything less from Hotch.

Still, Spencer bristles when he hears it and pointedly ignores the part of him that feels a burst of heat in response to Hotch’s words.

Hotch isn’t wrong in his assumption – but he doesn’t know that, not for _sure_ and he does sound very sure of himself.

How a man seemingly so confident and self-assured, at least in his job, could achieve that without coming off as arrogant is remarkable really. Spencer knows _he_ is sometimes, but not Hotch – somehow, he manages to be every bit the experienced leader and guardian without the egotism that is often unavoidable.

_Oh for god’s sake stop!_

_You’re being annoyed with him remember?_

“Well, I appreciate that but I really am alright so if you’ll excuse me.” Spencer didn’t mean to sound quite that sassy, but too late now.

He gives Hotch a perfunctory nod, still not looking at him, and tries to close the door.

“Spencer.”

It’s the use of his first name that gives Spencer pause. The door is almost all the closed with only a sliver of his face exposed. He peers at Hotch.

Hotch does look apologetic, but mostly it is concern evident in the lines of his mouth and eyes.

Spencer notices he looks tired as well, the bags under his eyes a bit too dark for normal, however beneath all that and everything else – there _is_ happiness there Spencer can’t remember seeing for a long time.

No matter the difficult reality of Hotch leaving the BAU, it is clear it was the best decision for him; being able to spend more time with his son. Whatever hurt Spencer feels, he will never, _ever_ fault Hotch for that.

Spencer watches Hotch carefully, waiting for him to continue.

Hotch sighs. “I realize showing up like this is out of line, and if you want me to leave I will.”

Now that he’s seen Spencer isn’t on his death bed or something, Spencer knows Hotch would leave without further comment if he asked him to.

“Yes, it was,” Spencer exhales and combs his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. “, but you don’t have to go.”

_You idiot!_

Hotch frowns. “Are you sure?”

 _No._ “Yeah, come in.”

_Again, you’re an idiot._

_I know._

Spencer pulls open the door, inwardly screaming ‘what the hell are you doing’ on repeat, and gestures for Hotch to enter.

He had so strongly intended on _no one_ coming over today…

Hotch hesitates, but eventually he accepts Spencer’s offer and walks through the door. Spencer closes it behind them both.

Sure enough, when Spencer turns around he spots Maeve near one of his many bookshelves – perusing and clearly trying to be as unobtrusive as possible by not facing them, though she must be able to hear every word.

Hotch is standing in the middle of the Livingroom, with his hands in his pockets and eyes on Spencer.

_I don’t want to talk._

_Then why did I invite him in?_

Without the dynamic of Work and boss/employee, there is a new level of discomfort to this interaction, at least from Spencer’s point of view, but honestly – there are many things that could be causing that at the moment. If Hotch were just a friend, it would be different, but he’s not – and _that_ is the can of worms Spencer is working on resealing.

Spencer hasn’t moved far from the door, a part of him is afraid that if he takes a step he’ll far over, and so he is just standing there with his arms crossed; torn between wanting to run into his room and hide, and feeling ensnared by the sheer disbelief of having Hotch _and_ Maeve within his line of sight.

He notices Maeve peek over her shoulder at the two of them, eyeing them curiously before once again facing the books.

_Maybe I am still dreaming._

 “Look,” Hotch’s voice cuts through Spencer’s thinking. Spencer tears his eyes away from Maeve and looks to the man standing much closer than he was before; a look of deep intent on his face. Spencer bites the inside of his cheek, feeling unaccountably nervous and trying very hard not to show it.  “I didn’t come here to – _crash_ your day, but your wellbeing is important and I hope you can promise me something.”

Spencer tightens his arms around himself, heart pounding in his ears.

_He’s worrying about me._

_…Why does **that** bother me?_

“If there is something you need, tell someone – or ask for help, before you put yourself at unnecessary risk.”

Spencer knows Hotch _must_ have to blink sometimes, but with the way he’s carefully gauging Spencer’s reaction…no matter that Hotch isn’t his boss anymore; the man still wants to look out for him like he is.

And _that_ – he knows Hotch means well, but for some reason, it hurts.

“I’m not a child you know.” He’s not exactly doing a great job backing up that statement, hugging himself defensively and not quite meeting the eyes of the man in front of him.

The worst part is how resigned Spencer’s voice sounded – he didn’t mean it to, and he very much winced when he heard it.

“I know you aren’t.” Well, Hotch at least _sounds_ genuine, for the most part. Spencer thinks he hears a note of hesitancy, as though Hotch is holding himself back from saying something else.

 _But you act like one sometimes?_ Spencer doesn’t know, and in all honesty Spencer isn’t trying all that hard to read him.

_Why is he even here, really?_

Spencer casually makes a show of going over to his closest bookshelf, facing the silent and uncomplicated volumes of literature – blissfully different than human beings – and immediately beginning to move them around. Spencer has been meaning to do some reorganizing; this isn’t just a method of distracting his hands and appearing busy.

It’s _not_ avoidance.

_Sure, tell yourself that often enough and maybe one day you’ll actually believe it._

“I’ve actually got some things I need to do,” _Very_ convincing. “Thanks for coming by.”

He can feel both Hotch _and_ Maeve’s eyes on him, which does _not_ serve to help his state of mind.

His hands perhaps start to move a little faster, pulling out book after book and setting them aside in piles separated by publication date.

_1983, 1997, 1976, 1978…_

In this instance, Hotch doesn’t need to say anything – his silence speaks volumes.

_1942, 1994, 1899, 2005…_

_Why is he still here?_

Spencer knows his movements must seem frenzied.

_Am I actually afraid of him being here?_

_Why?_

_You know why._

_No I don’t._

_Yes you do, you’re afraid he’ll see, you’re afraid of your own reactions, you’re afraid because right now you can’t trust yourself –_

_Quiet._

_2001, 1998, 1993, 2014 -_

Spencer hears him sigh, “Alright, I apologize for interrupting. Call me if you need anything.”

His hands stop moving, his heart and breathing faster than normal.

Spencer hears Hotch walk over to his apartment door and open it.

_Come on, you can’t leave it like this, he already has enough to worry about – like his son._

Spencer takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Hotch.”

He hears Hotch’s footsteps stop.

“I’ll try; you don’t need to worry about me.” Spencer’s voice is quiet, and surprisingly steady given the circumstances.

A pause. “If I worry, it’s not because I don’t believe you are a capable man Spencer.”

Spencer’s eyes clench, and his fingers tighten around the spine of a Dorothy L. Sayers novel.

_Aaron…_

“Take care.” With those parting words, Hotch leaves; the door softly clicking shut behind him.

It’s both cliché and oxymoronic to say silence is deafening, but in the wake of Hotch’s exit – Spencer can’t think of a more apt description.

In the past few minutes, he had nearly forgotten about Maeve – but now he can feel a steady gaze being directed his way.

They never talked in person, but in all the ways that matter – Maeve _knew_ him, intuitively in a way he seldom felt before.

_God only knows what she must be thinking with how I acted just now._

Spencer exhales and lets his weary hands fall from the books in front of him. Slowly, he turns to face her.

She is standing exactly where she was the last time he saw her, and just like he feared, her eyes are pinned on him knowingly; glistening, and slightly crinkled.

Spencer inhales sharply.

_She **saw.**_

“ _No_ ,” He doesn’t mean to say that out loud and quickly bites his lip to prevent any other unwanted words from escaping.

“Spencer-”

He interrupts her soft-spoken voice by whirling around and moving swiftly towards the cabinet where he keeps his portable chess set.

_No harm in leaving early for the game with Luke._

_And I…I really need to get out of this apartment._

Spencer can’t hear her moving, but he can feel that she hasn’t taken her eyes off him _once_ as he moved across the room and gathered the set into a canvas bag.

Now he’s grabbing a grey cardigan from a hook by the door and buttoning it on, along with his jacket.

“Where are you going?” She asks from somewhere off to his left, hopefully diverted from whatever she was going to say before.

He slips on his shoes and bends down to do up the laces, a bit more quickly than usual.

“To the park, I have a game with a friend.”

Spencer stands up and slips the canvas bag on his arm, patting his pocket in the process to make sure he still has his phone.

He then takes his keys off the smaller hook and opens the door.

When Spencer locks the door behind him, outside in the hall he sees that she has moved and is standing near the stairs going down.

_Of course._

With perhaps a bit more force than necessary, Spencer puts his keys in his pocket and turns to leave.

“Spencer-” Maeve tries again.

_No. I am **not** dealing with this. _

Spencer quickly moves past her and speeds down the stairs.

He doesn’t see or hear her until he reaches the lobby, at which point Spencer – out of breath – slides unsteadily to a stop when he sees her abruptly ripple into existence in front of the exit.

She looks frustrated.

“Spencer, please-”

“I can’t talk about this.” Spencer adjusts his hold on the bag and angrily ruffles his hair.

“The very last thing I want to do is cause you pain,” Spencer’s jaw clenches and he closes his eyes for a moment _._ “But I am here for a reason, I have to be.”

 “I know.” He says on a sad and inaudible sigh. _I just wish I knew why._

Maeve doesn’t say anything, whether because she doesn’t know what to say or because she recognizes Spencer isn’t exactly receptive right now, he isn’t sure.

Spencer tiredly wipes his face with the palm of his clammy hand, and again makes toward the exit. Thankfully, Maeve does move aside.

He stops though; hand on the door and facing forward.

“Can you not, follow me? I would…like some peace.” The words feel selfish, they _are_ selfish, and he _knows_ they’re pointless, didn’t she tell him she can’t go farther than a room away?

And how is _he_ going to find peace? It’s a state that has been eluding him for days, if not weeks or months. No reason why that should change now.

He feels her move closer, very close. With gritted teeth, Spencer turns to look at her – face nearly level with his own, and beautiful in the sunlight shining through the glass doors.

It seems he was only ever destined to be this close to her in dreams and death.

His heart twists.

“I may not have a choice.” She speaks softly, and ringing with meaning Spencer has no wish to identify at present.

_Does anyone?_

If Spencer had a choice, would he get rid of these feelings that have plagued him in waves for years?

Would he choose to forget her?

Unfortunately, the answers to those questions aren’t as black and white as he’d like them to be.

Spencer nods, resisting the urge to reach out to her – he knows, all that would happen is the falling of his hand through the unreal mirage she is.

It is a cruel reminder.

“I…” Spencer starts, but quickly shakes himself of the words and turns away.

He quickly opens the door and says not another word as he leaves, deciding he’ll walk to the park instead of drive.

Spencer has the time, and he could use the long walk.

 

~

 

Maeve stands alone in Spencer’s apartment lobby, watching him walk away with unhappy eyes.

Up until now, uncontrollable instinct would guide her to follow him.

However, there is no such force moving her now. Maybe it’s because he asked her not to?

She can’t exactly blame him for wanting some time alone. If their roles were reversed - Maeve can’t even imagine.

She closes her eyes and sighs _._

_I know what I saw on Spencer’s face – I only saw him once when I was alive, the way he looked at me…I can never forget._

_It was there again upstairs._

Maeve breathes in shakily; she knows that were she able to cry – there would be tears running down her cheeks.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Suddenly, she feels that _pull._

Before she can think or wonder anymore, the world grows foggy and distorted around her for the briefest of moments before reorienting itself again after a few seconds.

She has experienced this before of course, moving from one drastically different area to another – the house she first saw Spencer in, to his home for example, but this time she finds herself stumbling when that happens, it felt much faster and more abrupt than previously.

“What the…” Maeve shakes herself of the experience, not something she thinks she will ever get used to.

When Maeve finds her balance she expected to see Spencer somewhere nearby.

However, there is no sign of him and her brow furrows.

Instead, all she sees in front of her is a decently sized blue house.

A curly-haired blond woman sits on the steps leading up to the cream-coloured front door. Her eyes fondly watch a young boy (can’t be more than twelve) with a cast on his arm running back and forth on the small stretch of front lawn. There is a kite in his hand and he laughs when the wind picks it up easily.

It’s a Captain America kite.

Maeve giggles a bit at the sight despite feeling perplexed as to why she’s here. She walks up to the waist high fence surrounding the house.

“Who are these people?” She asks herself. There _is_ something familiar about the boy, but she can’t quite place –

A car, more specifically a black SUV, pulling into the driveway distracts her.

For a split second she’s worried, but that is quickly dashed when the boy notices and runs happily over to the car, kite and all – the woman following close behind.

Maeve tilts her head. _Who –_

The car door opens, and a familiar dark-haired man exits; he holds a bag of food in one hand.

Maeve eyes widen in surprise. “ _Oh_.”

It’s Aaron Hotchner, which must make the boy his son…Jack?

She’s…at _his_ house?

He must just be getting back from Spencer’s.

_Spencer…I know you know I saw your face when it was him on the other side of that door._

“So this is…him.” Maeve softly murmurs, more curious than anything else. She’s only ever seen the man twice in person, once while living - moments before she died, and the second only feels like minutes ago.

What little Maeve was able to gather from the evening previous, is that the entire BAU team is on unexpected leave currently. However, she doesn’t know why.

Maeve slowly moves over to the group of three, their voices becoming clearer the closer she gets.

“You left rather abruptly, you ok Aaron?” The woman asks.

Aaron doesn’t answer at first; he instead leans down to hug his son. The boy, Jack, curses when the wind picks up rather suddenly with the kite, causing him to almost let it go.

“Shit!”

“ _Jack._ ”

“Sorry, I meant double shit.” Jack says cheekily and runs off.

Aaron and the woman laugh softly.

“Be careful with your arm!” Aaron yells after him. “Someone’s in a good mood.” He rolls his eyes and moves the bag of food to his other hand so he can close the car door; locking it with a beep.

“Very.” The woman concedes. “What happened was hard, but having you here full time is doing wonders.” The woman reaches out and lightly pats Aarons arm.

“I can see that.” Aaron watches Jack with a loving smile, however it is tinged with something dark. “I’m glad, I only wish I’d come home sooner.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that. I _know_ what happened to Jack was not your fault - _hey!_ It wasn’t.” The woman interrupts him firmly when Aaron seemed poised to protest. “You’ve done well all these years without Haley, your _best._ And you know you weren’t ready to leave yet, that job was your life.”

Aaron sighs, and pinches the bridge of nose between his eyes.

“I wish I could say that was enough for my son.”

She sighs. “Even if it wasn’t, you’re here now and Jack is safe. Focus on that.” The woman side hugs Aaron tightly before stepping away.

He smiles at her. “I will, I do – everyday. And every day I thank the people who made this-” Aaron gestures to Jack standing a fair distance away, packing up the kite. “-possible. The team, and you Jessica. I will never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for us.”

“Oh you stop that.” She lovingly smacks his arm. Aaron laughs and deftly sidesteps out of her reach. “He’s my nephew, and you’re my family.”

“I know, but I’m still grateful.”

The woman, Jessica, concedes with a smile and a nod. “Me too. I’m proud of you Aaron, both of you, and so is Haley – remember that.”

Aaron sighs. “I do.”

The two of them stand side by side, watching Jack.

Maeve leans against the car directly beside them; she’d been paying careful attention to the whole scene.

_They’re like brother and sister, but they look nothing alike – must be Haley’s sister._

A distant memory pings for Maeve, of Spencer loosely mentioning what happened with her.

Maeve’s eyes turn sad as she looks at Aaron, and the boy who had so cruelly lost his mother.

“You never did answer me.” Jessica says suddenly.

“Hm?” Aaron, now crossing his arms, looks at Jessica with a raised brow.

“Before, when you left you seemed…worried. Is everything alright?”

“ _Ah_.” Aaron nods, slowly in response.

He looks down at the ground, a frown marring his face.

“Aaron?” Jessica touches his shoulder.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, I mean, _I’m_ fine. I just went to see a – a friend.” Maeve narrows her eyes thoughtfully at the pointed hesitation. “He’s having a hard time with something.”  Aaron finishes, looking back up towards Jack; though the frown is still fixed in the lines of his brow and mouth.

“Ah, ok.” Jessica nods. “And you don’t know what it is. He won’t tell you?”

“Partially, and no, but that’s his prerogative.” Aaron shrugs, but the action is anything but casual.

Maeve saw it before and she sees it now, Aaron is troubled – evidently, about Spencer.

“You want to help and he won’t let you.” Jessica observes with her attention mostly on him now.

Aaron hums an affirmative. “Not just me, anyone.” Aaron sighs and rubs a tired hand down his face.

Jessica grimaces and strokes Aaron’s arm. “You can’t save people from themselves.”

He nods and lets his hand drop. “I know.”

Jessica looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. “It’s Spencer isn’t it?”

Aaron looks at her with some surprise. “How-”

“Look Aaron, I love you but you don’t exactly have many friends except the team. And I have met them all, plus you’ve told me some things over the years. It’s not a big deduction.”

He accepts this with a vague hum. “Yes, it’s him.”

Jessica nods. “If you don’t mind me asking, why?”

Aaron’s brow draws together. “What do you mean?

“Well,” Jessica shrugs and then looks up at Aaron with a small degree of uncertainty. “In comparison to the others, you’ve always seemed disproportionally _more_ worried where he’s concerned.”

Aaron looks away, deep in thought.

Maeve, her mind spinning, moves to a position in order to better see their faces – particularly Aaron’s.

His is not _nearly_ as easy to read as Spencer’s.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Maeve, now standing directly in front of him, would almost say he looks confused.

“Why is that?” Jessica asks.

Maeve thinks he must be keeping his face averted from Jessica on purpose; hiding.

She almost feels bad for intruding, but something did bring her here for a reason – a reason that may not be Spencer himself, but obviously in relation to him.

Clearly, someone or something thinks she needs to see this.

Aaron opens his mouth, as if to speak – the action immediate in response to Jessica’s question, as though a habit.

Maybe this isn’t the first time he’s been asked this?

However, he seems to change his mind and his mouth closes.

His face may be unreadable, but the eyes…dark, stormy, they reveal a lot to Maeve.

“You know something, I’m really not sure. He’s just…” He hesitates and sighs, frustration evident in the tense line of posture. _Ah_ , Maeve _almost_ laughs to herself, _someone else who hates not knowing_. “Different.”

Jessica is watching him curiously. She hums, not saying anything.

Aaron seems to shake off the moment and his face shutters into something more placid before he turns back to Jessica.

“Anyway, I got some food on the way back. Still staying for lunch?” Aaron smiles, as though the entire last minute never happened, and motions to towards the house.

“Of course. I’m starving and perfectly willingly to mooch off you whenever I get the chance.” Jessica grins and pats his arm.

Aaron snorts. “Good to know.”

They both walk forward and, unknowingly, away from Maeve.

Aaron calls his son over, and soon the three of them are heading inside.

Maeve doesn’t move for a moment, the past inexplicable few minutes whirling in her head.

_He **is** confused._

_But why exactly?_

She hums in thought. “I needed to this because…?” Maeve wonders quietly to herself.

She honestly does not know Aaron Hotchner enough to make a confident estimate as to his emotional state.

Briefly, she toys with the idea of telling Spencer about this next time she sees him.

But – no. Something tells her it wouldn’t be the right time.

Maeve recognizes she is still very much an unexpected unknown to him in a lot of ways, and a more than painful reminder of the past.

And so, for now, Maeve resolves to keep this diversion to herself.

It isn’t long before Maeve once again feels her instinct tingling. She needs to go, and this time she knows it’ll be Spencer she sees.

As the Hotchner and Brooks family settles down to a table of roast chicken sandwiches and vegetable medley, Maeve away and out of sight.

 

 

Two doors down on the opposite side of the street, a man, in an unobtrusive silver sedan also has eyes on the Hotchner residence.

He pulls out a phone and speed dials “A”.

The dial tone only last a few rings before someone answers, a woman.

Only a few words are exchanged before the man hangs up.

 

Somewhere, out of sight, out of mind, where no one can see, a woman carefully puts down her phone on the table beside her work area.

She eyes it softly for a moment, “Soon.”, before turning her attention back to her primary task.

Before her lay six flowers, all tied with the same, delicate baby pink ribbon.

All but one has a notecard attached.

The last is flat and ready before her.

She picks up a nearby pin and pricks the index finger of her right hand, hard enough for pearls of blood to begin forming. She puts blood soaked finger to paper and begins the simple, yet important process of writing those two words for the sixth time.

_For Her._

“For you, my beautiful.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

_The heart has its reasons which reason knows not_

_~ Blaise Pascal_

 

 

 

There is a nip to the air; hence the park isn’t as busy as it usually is.

It ended up being a forty minute walk, but the lengthy trek did help clear Spencer’s mind – even if only a little.

He’s still replaying the whole scene with Maeve and Hotch over and over again, but at least he isn’t on his way to a panic attack anymore.

If anything, the cool air has afforded him a veneer of resigned calm about the entire thing.

That may not be considered a _good_ thing per se, but at this point, Spencer is willing to take any infinitesimal improvement _away_ from emotional mayhem as a win.

Once he arrived at the park, after stopping for a coffee on the way, he’d settled at an empty picnic table near the pond and corresponding grove of trees; private, and away from what few people are present, mostly parents and families with children near the small playground.

It’s roughly middle-ground between Spencer and Luke’s homes. It is a pleasant place to meet.

Spencer spent the time waiting for Luke playing chess with himself, drinking his coffee, and wondering what game Luke would bring this time (after Luke started becoming proficient at chess, rather quickly for a relative beginner – of course Spencer still wins most of the time – Luke began sharing games he was more adept at than Spencer, soon it became tradition to play chess and then move on to whatever madness Luke chose).

Hotch and Maeve infiltrated his thoughts on occasion of course…alright, more than just occasionally.

Playing chess by alone isn’t as distracting as it used to be.

It was a little after midday when Luke arrived, Roxy in tow. The dog had long since taken a shine to him, resting her head on his thigh more often than not while they were playing.

Today is no different.

Totally normal.

Halfway through their second game, the small box of specialty cream cheese donuts Luke had brought nearly gone and Spencer making his way to a checkmate, Roxy trots over from Luke’s side and sits beside Spencer instead; sure enough, her head soon clonks on his lap.

Spencer reaches down and gently strokes the top of her head before refocusing on the board.

“Traitor.” Luke calls out to Roxy.

Spencer snorts.

Roxy huffs and doesn’t move.

“I think she knows I’ll be winning this one.” Spencer smirks.

In fact, he should’ve won the first one – Luke is good, and Spencer isn’t infallible, but that first was poor play for him. And he’s pretty sure Luke noticed.

“Ha. Or _maybe_ she feels bad for you; because she knows you’ll lose, again.” Luke, playing black, moves his knight with a smile.

“You wish.” Spencer mutters as he rests his chin on his joined fists, analyzing the board. If he’s careful, this match should be his in six moves or less.

Spencer chooses to move his own knight, effectively blocking Luke’s rook sneaking up on the left – unless he chooses to sacrifice it.

“Beating a genius like you is good for my ego.” Luke deliberates for a moment before moving his last standing pawn.

“Mhm.”

_Bishop or Queen?_

“Spencer.”

 _Bishop._ Spencer reaches forward and deftly moves his Bishop, taking yet another piece from his companion.

_Four moves._

“Hey, Spencer.”

Spencer jumps a bit, causing Roxy to grumble – no doubt annoyed with him, and tears his focus away from the board to look at Luke.

“What?”

Luke’s eyes narrow slightly in his direction; a careful quality to the gaze he casts over Spencer.

He holds in the urge to squirm.

“You just opened yourself for Check.”

_What?_

Spencer frowns and looks down at the board, scanning over it quickly, no, there’s no _way_ he could miss – oh.

_Luke is right, I did._

_How did I miss something so obvious?_

“And you lost the first game.”

“I am aware of that.” Spencer grits his teeth. He’s not really a sore loser, nor an unreasonable competitor, but this…

This _isn’t_ like him.

“You lost it _quickly._ Well, quickly for you.”

“Again, I am _aware_ of that.” Spencer bites, feeling annoyed now.

“You’re distracted, and you seem...subdued. Normally I would’ve gotten at _least_ one rambling paragraph of fact by now. What’s on your mind?”

_Many things._

Spencer curses inwardly _._

He flicks his eyes up at Luke, the man is still casting the same vaguely suspicious look in Spencer’s direction, before resuming his stare at the board – but to his frustration, his focus really isn’t improving, hovering somewhere between fog and clarity.

_I know. Drawing **attention** to it isn’t exactly helping._

When he’d been playing alone, Spencer could ignore the fact that his faculties were at a subpar level, but once he started playing with the Luke it was much harder – because he knew Luke was going to mention it at some point.

Spencer had been hoping for later or a miracle; like _,_ Luke not saying a word.

He certainly does not _want_ to talk about.

Still, he is surprised to feel that the idea of saying something to Luke isn’t as nerve-racking as say, having to tell JJ or Derek, or Hotch god forbid.

Could be because Luke is more removed from the situation compared to most of the others; since he hasn’t been around as long, therefore isn’t _personally_ aware of the history.  

Luke doesn’t even know about _Maeve…_ Oh.

Spencer’s expression wavers, and the light tapping of his foot against the grass stops.

_It’s a stupid idea._

_I don’t have any good ones._

_He’ll see through it._

_Of course, but I’m stuck. Maybe if I can figure out this one thing it will lead to possible solutions for the rest._

_Not everything has a solution._

_Perhaps not an obvious one, but everything **does** have a solution – all I need is to find the reason for this one thing._

_And what about the rest?_

_There is no reason to it._

_But is there a solution?_

_There are no solutions for that which is unsolvable._

_So you ignore, repress and bury whatever you can’t find answers for. How’s that working out for you?_

Sometimes, nothing frustrates Spencer than his own conscience.

He’s very aware of the fact that Luke hasn’t taken his turn; evidently choosing to wait for Spencer to respond.

With one hand absentmindedly fiddling with a recently captured rook of Luke’s, and the other lightly grasping his bicep – elbow on the table, Spencer looks up at the man opposite him with a vague smile.

Luke narrows his eyes.

Spencer inhales. “I have a hypothetical scenario for you.”

Luke blinks slowly, clasping his hands together and leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table.

Between them, Roxy slides her head off Spencer’s lap and moves to curl up under the picnic table at their feet.

“Alright.” He eyes Spencer with a little uncertainty.

“A man’s Guiding Spirit appears to him in the form of a woman he lost many years ago, she meant everything to him and when she died because he c-” Spencer bites the inside of his cheek and shakes himself of the echoes of pain squeezing his heart. He focuses on the intricately carved grooves in the rook held by his fingers; peripherally he notices Luke has leaned back and is crossing his arms. “-it doesn’t matter, she died and it nearly broke this man. Then she’s appearing, years later, after his life and the lives of those around him moved on. It got easier to deal with over time, and now he is well adjusted in his life, happy with his work, there is no discernible reason for this woman to appear at this point in his life. There is nothing she could possibly do for him. So why is she here?”

_Why is Maeve here, now?_

Spencer barely restrains the groan of frustration he wants to vent.

In truth, after everything he’s been bombarded with recently, he’s not far from the point of being too exhausted and overwhelmed to even bother putting up a front of acting more alright than he actually is.

The worst thing that could happen now is Luke openly pries Spencer for specifics and calls him on the obvious bullshit, but in this situation – he doubts Luke would, which is really the only reason Spencer is bothering with this shamefully transparent action.

However, at the moment Luke is being strangely quiet.

And it isn’t long before Spencer begins cursing himself for saying anything.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

_What did I say anything? If I, or even Maeve, don’t know – he can’t. It’s not like I gave a point by point historical account of everything._

The very thought has Spencer shifting uneasily.

Being so consistently paranoid that all his thoughts and feelings are flashing clearly on his face, all the time, is not fun.

_Why isn’t he saying anything?_

After a minute of Luke _still_ being silent, Spencer looks up at him with a puckered brow.

To Spencer’s slight surprise, Luke is staring off to the side – eyes unfocused on some distant point, arms still crossed.

Whether it’s because of what Spencer posited or some other reason, the deep set of his eyes seem to indicate there is _something_ on his mind.

“Luke?”

His friend exhales and turns toward Spencer, eyes fixed on his own.

_He seems…determined._

Luke leans forward and rests his crossed arms on the table.

“I never told you about my grandfather, did I?”

That…wasn’t expected.

Spencer tilts his head. “No, you haven’t.”

“Mm.” Luke sighs and casually strokes his hair away from his forehead. “My mother’s father, he died when I was ten.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Luke, to Spencer’s bemusement, scoffs softly. “Don’t be.” He breathes deeply for a moment, and Spencer remains quiet – listening intently. “When I joined the army, I reached…an impasse in my training about halfway through. Physically and technically I was doing quite well, but according to the superior officers I was _too_ hotheaded and making critical mistakes that would – in a real scenario – potentially cost me my life, and the lives of my fellow soldiers. In short, I wasn’t doing well.” Luke pauses for a few seconds, eyeing Spencer to make sure he’s listening. He is, even though Spencer isn’t sure _why_ Luke is telling him this. “What I didn’t tell anyone, was that shortly before my problems became…extremely visible to everyone else, my grandfather appeared to me.”

Spencer inhales sharply. _Oh._

“Yeah,” Luke almost laughs. “It seemed like the cruelest of jokes, I ignored him for a long time – hoping he would just, go away.” Luke shrugs. “I was young.”

“Why did you ignore him for so long?” It perhaps isn’t wise to interrupt when Luke is so obviously sharing something this personal, he does wince a bit when the questions tumbles out - but Spencer finds he is curious nonetheless.

“My mom and I lived with my grandfather from the time I was born until he died, and throughout all the years I knew him he was a bitter, angry and more than occasionally a cruel man, _especially_ to my mother.” Luke recites this with a surprising level of calm, though it’s obvious the old pain lingers. “She tried to hide her injuries, but I saw, I knew and I never told her that I knew.”

Spencer sags in his seat and feels profound compassion for his friend.

He wants to say something, but really, what can you say? If there is one thing Spencer has learned over the years, despite his reputation for talking incessantly, is that often what’s better than talking is _listening._

So that’s what Spencer does.

“I’m not going to go into the details and long history with that, but suffice to say when I realized my grandfather – the man I _hated_ more than anyone, was my Guardian Angel, I laughed. Laughed to cover how angry I was. And I’m sure you can understand why I initially ignored him,” Spencer nods. “It was both easy, and surprisingly difficult. I mean, I had carried the man with me every day of my life like a wound that never healed, seeing him…wasn’t easy. In hindsight, the only silver lining was that he was one of those spirits that never talked.” There have been rare occasions where a Guiding Spirit was merely a visual spectre and little else. “I could go on about my state of mind, but I’m getting off topic here.” Luke sighs. “The point is he didn’t leave until I realized something – it didn’t matter if I saw him or not, he was always there, and he always would be until I found a way to live without the ghost of his memory holding me back. Sometimes, our Guardian Angels aren’t here for any other reason than to serve as a reminder, or warning of something or _someone_ we need to let go of, because if you don’t find a way to - the pain, the denial, _will_ hold you back. It nearly kept me from fulfilling what I wanted to do.”

Luke’s stare is settled on Spencer pointedly, and Spencer feels it – and his words – like a pounding drum in his ears.

_But…I **have** let go of her._

_…Haven’t I?_

_If you have to ask the question…_

He swallows the lump in his throat. A mild breeze brushes his face.

“Thank-you Luke, for-” Spencer inhales sharply and recoils in surprise when he sees Maeve standing beside him.

Her gaze is unwavering.

_She overheard everything._

_Where has she been?_

“Spencer?” Luke is watching him with questioning eyes.

“I, um.” Feeling a bit blindsided Spencer blinks and looks away from Maeve, but he can still very much feel her presence at his side.

It makes Spencer nervous when he notices Luke look towards to where Spencer – from his point of view – was gawking at nothing. Even though he knows, rationally, that Luke can’t see her.

Maeve is still observing him closely, and although he isn’t sure why – there is something… _new_ in her presence; the way she feels.

Spencer shakes himself of the feeling and looks to Luke while quickly trying to think of a way to explain the sudden oddity in his behaviour.

Spencer’s jaw snaps shut when he sees the moment Luke appears to have a revelation/

“ _Oh._ ” Luke inadvertently looks at Maeve before once again looking at Spencer with a pointed eyebrow.

Even Roxy, sensing the change in atmosphere stands up and looks around. Spencer can’t be sure, but it seems like Roxy’s nose lingers for longer where Maeve is standing.

Now they’re _both_ staring at him knowingly, though probably for different reasons.

_Don’t panic. Why do I feel like panicking? Who cares, don’t do it._

Spencer’s breath is rapid; he reaches out with pleading hands in Luke’s direction. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Luke seems surprised. “Of course I won’t. This,” Luke casually motions towards him. “is _your_ business, just…keep what I said in mind. Alright?”

Still reeling from this unexpected turn of events, Spencer nods without saying a word.

“Come on Roxy, let’s go.” Luke says suddenly, the dog immediately responds to his voice – but not before giving Spencer a light nudge with her nose.

“What?” Spencer stands up when Luke does. “You don’t have to go.”

“It’s alright, really, we’ll re-schedule later. Besides, you probably need rest from the clobbering I was giving you.” Luke says the last with a wink and a laugh and deliberately eyes the chessboard between them.

Spencer snorts and crosses his arms.

“I was poised for a late comeback.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that genius.” Luke is a smiling a little, and when Roxy reaches him he clicks a burgundy lead onto her matching collar.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, not quite sure how to feel about Luke leaving. “You sure you’re ok with this?” And honestly, Spencer isn’t sure exactly what he’s referring to with that question.

Luke gathers up his coat, and with Roxy at his side he straightens and gives Spencer a look of such kind understanding that for a moment Spencer wonders why his heart insists on only falling for unattainable men.

“Hey, no worries. I should take Roxy for a walk anyway.” Luke shrugs and pats the bulge of his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “Call, or text, if you need me. I’ll be in the park for a while yet.” He nods pointedly towards where Maeve had previous been standing, but unbeknownst to Luke she is now kneeling in front of Roxy with a smile.

Spencer notes with some surprise Roxy stretches her head out when Maeve reaches out her delicate fingers towards the dog. The second her nose comes into contact with Maeve, falling through her mist-like fingers, she snorts and shakes her head.

Maeve laughs. Spencer restrains a smile of amusement. Animals have been known to have some perceptive senses when Guiding Spirits are present.

“I will. Thank-you so much Luke, really.” Spencer says in response to Luke, hoping his face conveys how genuinely he means that. It’s true, no matter how discomfiting this exchange was in some ways, it was easier than Spencer had thought it would be. And he certainly hadn’t expected these particular topics to arise during their chess game, in fact Spencer originally intended on avoiding them completely.

Luke grins. “Anytime bud. Let’s go Roxy.”

And with that, Luke turns around and makes for the path nearby – Roxy trotting after him. Their empty coffees, which he’d grabbed, he empties in the nearby recycling bin on his way.

Spencer breathes deeply.

_That…was interesting._

He shakes his head with an exhale and leans down to start collecting and organizing the chess pieces back into their container.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Maeve move back towards the table.

They’re alone now.

_I only gave him the bare minimum, and then again only indirectly, yet Luke seemed to imply – through the sharing of his own experience - that maybe part of my problem is being unable to let her go._

_But that doesn’t answer the other question, why now?_

The thoughts don’t sit well with him; however he does allow himself a moment to analyze his own behaviour since Maeve’s arrival and admits, grudgingly, that there could be some merit to that line of thinking.

Spencer can hear the gentle tread of her breathing, and the speed at which he tidies up the chessboard increases with each second Maeve remains silent.

The board is away in the bag and across his shoulders before he finally looks up at her.

She’s watching him with a soft, yet sad smile; her eyes even more brilliant with the sun shining upon them.

He squirms uncomfortably on his feet.

“What?”

Maeve’s arms fall from around her body and move restlessly at her sides, like she wants to reach out but has to keep reminding herself not to. Spencer tightens his grip on the canvas strap. “Is that what I’m doing? Am I holding you back from something Spencer?” She asks, voice breathy and gentle.

She looks as though the very idea is causing her immense distress.

And Spencer can’t take it, not her face looking like that – about him.

Without answering, Spencer turns and begins walking away in the direction he’d arrived in; face shuttered.

_I can’t answer that question. Literally._

_Are you sure?_

Spencer isn’t even trying to run really, he figures Maeve will follow.

Of course, only a few seconds later, he sees Maeve reach him and match his long stride.

“Or…someone?”

“Excuse me, _what?_ ”

Spencer whips his head to face her and abruptly stops walking, hands white-knuckled and tense around his bag.

_There is no one she is holding me back from. Even if I weren’t cursed, he and I could never –_

_You don’t know that._

Spencer, if possible, clenches his fists tighter – trying so hard not to tremble. Thoughts like those are dangerous. They’re hopeful, and useless to him.

_Yes, I do._

Spencer knows she saw some interaction between them, but how she jumped to that conclusion based on seeing them together once – he doesn’t know. _Am I that transparent?_

He also isn’t sure whether he should be surprised or not that she would confront him about it so brazenly.

As Spencer stares at her with narrowed eyes, Maeve meets them with an unflinching glare of her own; arms crossed, silent and utterly unapologetic in her assumption.

“You heard me Dr. Reid.”

Spencer has the passing thought of wondering if this is how fights between them would’ve gone, staring each other down – Maeve unrelenting and steady. That thought is soured with the abrupt reminder that he’ll never know.

And why he is cursed in love.

_Blood…so much blood…pain…feels like he got shot…he wish he had…_

The truth is, and Spencer is fully aware of this, any inkling of decision or fantasy that Spencer might, just might, one day at _least_ tell Hotch about his feelings died with Maeve.

The hurt made him relieved he had never said a word to him.

It is a truth Spencer was very much reminded of when he saw her in that bathroom.

And he is again reminded of it now, standing in front of her – unable to hold her, to touch, because she died on that floor in front of his eyes.

The one time he’d allowed himself to embrace the love he felt, it backfired in the worst possible way.

Spencer took it as a sign.

He breathes in shakily and clenches his eyes tightly closed for a moment.

Overwhelming sorrows wash away all the indignation and anger her observation brought, and his entire form slumps; aching everywhere.

“You’re not holding me back from anything.” Any irritation is long gone from his voice, all the remains the purest, saddest truth that Spencer believes with all his broken heart.

While Spencer can possibly, _maybe_ , admit that he hasn’t _fully_ let go of Maeve…no one can hold you back from something that’s impossible.

So yes, he believes what he said.

Maeve sighs.

He can see it, the urge to protest loud in her eyes.

“No, I am not talking about this.”

_It can’t be why you’re here._

Spencer starts walking away again – perhaps more subdued than before.

_I just…need to move these feelings far away deep inside my head, where they can’t give me constant headaches._

Maeve falls in line beside him again.

“Spencer, you can’t ignore this forever – eventually we’re going to need to talk, _really_ talk.”

Before Spencer can say anything, he hears the tinny sound of his text alert.

He stops walking again, grateful for the distraction and pulls out his phone.

It’s from Luke.

_Are you doing alright? – L_

Spencer hesitates for a moment.

_Yes and no. I will be. – S_

He really hopes that’s true.

_Ok. Maybe you should get some practice in before our next game, clearly you need it. – L_

Spencer rolls his eyes.

_I was just having an off day. I’ve been playing since I was 2. – S_

_Have you been improving since then? Maybe we should play something more your speed, hungry hungry hippos? – L_

Spencer glares at the phone, but can’t stop a small laugh from escaping.

_Smart ass. – S_

_I try. Talk to you later Spencer. - L_

With that brief text conversation ended, Spencer puts his phone away.

“I’m glad you’re happy, at least sometimes. He seemed nice.”

The sound of Maeve’s voice brings him back to the reality of his present circumstance.

He looks at her.

Whatever the truth, she does seem happy at the thought of _him_ being happy.

_It hurts to see._

If his heart doesn’t stop squeezing, twisting and aching anytime soon he might actually develop some physical problems.

Spencer can’t find it in himself to deny something that obviously pleases her. Honestly, he’s not even sure of its truth, one way or another.

“He is. Luke joined the team about half a year ago.” Spencer decides commenting on her latter words is safer.

Maeve nods in acknowledgement, a slight smile on her face.

“You’re lucky to have so many people in your life who care about you.”

He sighs. _Indeed._

Spencer looks at Maeve, and he thinks about Luke, Hotch, JJ, Derek, Tara, Emily, Henry… _all_ of them, they are his family, and he’s never quite felt comfortable with how _much_ they all care.

He does feel bad for how he dismisses them sometimes, or avoids them. Spencer knows if one of them were acting like he is, he would be worried too.

Guilt makes his stomach clench.

Spencer sighs and pinches the bridge of nose between his eyes.

_I’m really not worth the effort._

“Yes you are.”

Maeve’s words break through and he looks up at her in surprise.

She’s smiling. “What you’re thinking is quite obvious, and right now – it’s _nonsense_.”

Spencer doesn’t respond, except to scowl and walk away.

_It’s been years. How can she still see right through me…? It’s not fair._

_None of this is._

And of course, Maeve follows.

Really, right now Spencer just wants to go home.

Another ping signals a text.

_Seriously?_

Spencer tries very hard not to feel irritated – seriously, they have the absolute _best_ timing – as he is again forced to stop. He could ignore it, but he would never forgive himself if it were important.

So he pulls out his phone and opens -

“Oh.” Spencer’s irritation melts away into something very different, and not unlike being punched in the stomach – a fate Spencer had enough personal experience with as a child.

Of _course_ Hotch would be the one texting him now.

The universe has to be doing this on purpose. If only he knew why.

“What is it?” Maeve asks curiously.

Spencer doesn’t answer her and opens the text.

_Remember the promise. - H_

Spencer has an eidetic memory, of course he remembers. And anything Hotch says to him seems to stay in his mind with particularly exceptional clarity.

_“If there is something you need, tell someone – or ask for help, before you put yourself at unnecessary risk”_

Spencer’s thumb hovers over Hotch’s name on the small screen for a moment. He sighs. _Why Aaron, why do you care this much?_

It doesn’t seem like Hotch is expecting a response, so Spencer doesn’t bother to give one. With the recent subjects and truths that have been alluded to within the past few minutes, Spencer isn’t exactly in the best state _to_ respond.

Spencer closes the phone and puts it back in his pocket.

“Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to help you with.”

Spencer looks at Maeve warily. She’s gazing at him with considering eyes.

“What?” He finds himself asking, absentmindedly adjusting the bags weight on his shoulders.

He doesn’t move when Maeve walks up to him, unable to look away.

“You’re happy, to a point. But not where it matters most.” Her tone is solemn.

“Where-”

Spencer looks down with some confusion when he notices she’s raising her hand and reaching it out to him – stopping to hover over his chest, he can feel slight tingles over his skin even through the clothes.

_His **heart.**_

His eyes begin to water.

_Damnit._

He closes his eyes tightly, and he tries, so hard, for once _not_ to _feel_.

“I…I don’t know how.” The words hurt to say, Spencer doesn’t know why he says them, but they come unbidden from his lips; vulnerable, and filled with too much truth to bear.

She has always done this to him.

“Are you sure about that?” Maeve asks, not unkindly.

Spencer breathes in shakily.

_Aere Perennius._

“Yes.” Spencer means it, and it aches – everywhere.

He feels Maeve’s hand fall away, so Spencer opens his eyes. She hasn’t moved from her spot in front of him.

He has no idea where to even _begin_ analyzing the look on her face.

“Can I ask you something?” Maeve utters softly.

Spencer’s brow crinkles, and slowly, cautiously, he nods.

“What happened?” Maeve starts. “I mean, you’re not at work and what little I’ve been able to gather…something happened, with the team.” The way she speaks is nervous yet determined; this is something she has clearly been waiting to ask him.

It is peripherally related, ok maybe more than peripherally.

Spencer does realize, or is in the process of _genuinely_ realizing, he really will have to interact with her more openly at some point – no matter that the prospect fills him with incredible anxiety to say the least.

It hasn’t even been _one day_ ; Spencer thinks he’s entitled to uneasy about all this.

However, he supposes telling her, even if only in the barest details, would be a good start.

And so, Spencer does. The serial killers, Mr. Scratch, Hotch… _Jack._ While Spencer avoids his own feelings and thoughts surrounding it all a great deal, he does tell her everything that happened.

And what the consequences were.

When he’s finished, Spencer expects Maeve to ask questions – instead, over the course his explanation Maeve only listened with a consistently thoughtful look on her face.

Now, both still standing the middle of the park, Maeve is silent.

When she doesn’t say anything – a part of Spencer is thankful for it, recounting those events isn’t easy and fraught with lingering fear.

It really hasn’t been that long.

So, Spencer takes a fortifying breath and walks toward the park exit.

Maeve, quiet and reflective, trails behind him.

Even if Spencer doesn’t know the answer to everything, he can usually enter a situation with a path to navigate the unknown and find the answer.

He doesn’t have that here. Maeve. Hotch…

Spencer hates walking into anything blind, an unfortunate reality that will occur no matter what, and a truth he has never found a way to completely reconcile with.

It does seem to happen almost consistently when it comes to anything regarding, or related to his emotional state. Spencer would be the first to admit that his heart has always, and in some ways _will_ always, be his blind spot.

It’s just that now…he feels blind everywhere.

His mother once called him a wandering child; his mind throwing him to places far, far away.

_When did I become so lost?_

When Spencer reaches the busy road outside the park exit, he luckily spots a taxi waiting on the curb for a potential customer. The long walk back to his apartment isn’t a trek he wants to make at the moment.

In a few minutes Spencer, with Maeve at his side – the epitome of a true and silent Guardian, is in the backseat of the cab on his way to his apartment.

He will often hesitate to call it home. Sure it serves his needs well enough, it’s a roof, it has enough shelving space for all his books, but…a _home?_

Spencer can’t remember the last time, if ever, _home_ was where he lived.

 

 

_Spencer had finally settled on wearing contacts for the majority of his time working. However, that morning he’d lost them due to events involving an open door and his neighbor’s annoyingly curious cat. So, for the first time in a couple weeks, Spencer walked into work wearing glasses._

_They didn’t have an active case; it was to be a day of filing paperwork, a reality of the job no one liked. It always went faster for Spencer though, being able to read quicker a definite bonus – much to Derek’s displeasure._

_If Spencer made a show of being finished before him, purposefully bringing a book or two (or four) to enjoy while Derek slaved away beside him at his own desk…well, he never admitted to it, and took each irritated sneer directed his way with pride._

_That day, one of his books was a collection of Latin poetry; The Odes and Epodes of Horace._

_Spencer was usually the first one to arrive._

_However, when he walked over to their group of desks with his cup of coffee in hand, he was surprised to see Derek already at his own desk; apparently already semi-alert with coffee and a pile of paper work at his side._

_Spencer was taken aback just long enough for him not to notice the towering piles of folders until he sat down._

_He blinked inordinately slowly._

_“What the hell?” Other than the space that allowed Spencer to sit in his chair, his view was neatly obstructed on practically all sides; little else could be seen other than the edges of bound folders and paper surrounding him._

_There wasn’t even an inch of free space for his coffee!_

_It was then he heard the barely restrained giggling of one Derek Morgan coming from behind a stack to his right._

_Spencer scowled and tried to push aside one of the towers of folders without causing the entire thing to collapse. Luck was on his side, and he was able to move it just enough to see Derek in tears and laughing his ass off._

_This only got worse when he turned and noticed the very annoyed face of one Dr. Reid eyeing him from between two towers of folders._

_He outright guffawed._

_“What **is** this?” Spencer demanded. “Derek Morgan, what did you do?!”_

_“Since you seemed to love paper work so much, always speeding through it like you couldn’t get enough – I pulled a few strings, and got you a little more. You’re welcome and happy Monday.” Derek tapped his forehead in mock salute._

_Spencer narrowed his eyes and imagined pushing the folders directly onto the smug bastards lap. “I hate you.”_

_“Aw, love you too Pretty Boy.” Derek blew him a disgustingly exaggerated air smooch and swiftly went back to his own work._

_“Jerk.” Spencer mumbled and slouched back in his own chair._

_Derek sniggered._

_As Spencer contemplated where to go from here, an idea occurred to him and a low smirk not unlike the cartoon Grinch adorned his face._

_Once again, Spencer leaned to the right and peered at Derek. “Hey.”_

_Derek looked at him with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t you be working?” He teased with a far too please grin, which quickly fell into a more suspicious look as he took in Spencer’s vindictive grin._

_“I bet I can get through all these-” Spencer gestured towards the multiple towers on his desk. “-before you finish yours.” Spencer pointed towards the measly collection of folders on Derek’s desk. Measly only in comparison to the monstrosity Derek saddled him with; in actuality it’s not an insignificant amount of work he has for himself._

_Derek paused, seeming to think on his proposition seriously. He slowly looked at the many piles on Spencer’s desk with a considering eye._

_“Hm…” He eyed Spencer warily for a moment, and Spencer just stared at him innocently with those big eyes made even more puppy-like in the glasses. “Alright, I’ll take that bet infallible genius. I win; you do my paperwork for a week,” Derek pointed at him firmly. “You win, and I’ll do the same for you.”_

_Spencer bit his lip to keep from smiling. “You’re on.”_

_Hours later, everyone else had long since arrived – and they were either in their respective offices or at their desks._

_JJ and Emily were conversing on something off to the side._

_Garcia had been perched on Derek’s desk for a while, before leaving to do her own thing._

_Rossi was in his office._

_Hotch had taken one look at Reid and Morgan when he arrived, rolled his eyes and moved on to sequester himself in his own office._

_And of course, Derek was fuming while a smug Spencer Reid casually leaned back in his chair, book in hand, and paper work properly dealt with and filed._

_Derek wasn’t finished._

_It wasn’t an insult to Derek’s capabilities; there were just some things Spencer was better at than him. The man really shouldn’t have played with fire he didn’t know how to handle._

_And now Spencer had a week free of paper work to look forward to._

_In the meantime he occupied himself with what free time he currently had with reading. At that moment it was the Latin prose of Horace, and Spencer was heavily analyzing and debating meanings, interpretations and comparing the value of the words in their closest to original form in comparison to other languages, which forced him to move through the collection much slower than he would have were he just reading, but right then –Spencer was perfectly fine with that._

_Basically, Spencer was enjoying himself._

_“One of these days Pretty Boy, I will find your weakness.”_

_Spencer smirked unseen behind the book. “Keep dreaming Morgan.” He muttered with a put-upon sigh._

_Derek muttered unintelligibly, but Spencer could hear the undertones of amusement regardless. His friend was annoyed, but they both knew their teasing rivalry was all in good fun – mostly._

_“I can’t believe I’m offering this to **you** ,” Derek sighed as he stood up. “But I’m going to get myself more coffee, want some?” Derek moved away from his desk as he asked._

_Spencer looked up from the book. “Yes please.”_

_Derek snorted. “Of course you do.”_

_When he reaches Spencer’s side, he quickly ruffled Spencer’s hair before practically skipping out reach of Spencer’s flailing hand; laughing in his wake._

_Spencer grumbled as he tried to fix his hair – getting way too long honestly._

_He gave up pretty soon and resumed reading._

_Spencer was just about to start Ode 3.30 when it happened._

_“Reid?”_

_Spencer jumped at the sudden sound of Hotch’s voice directly behind him – which then caused him to drop the book, and when Spencer hastily reached down and grabbed it he hit his head hard on the bottom of his desk on the way back up._

_“Shit goddamnit fuck!” He cursed, automatically pressing his head firmly to the top of his head as he leaned back in his chair, book held loosely in his other hand._

_“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear like that before. Are you alright?”_

_Damnit. Spencer for a second had forgotten that Hotch was **right there**. _

_His embarrassment racketed up by several degrees._

_Spencer winced and opened his eyes – which immediately focused on the dark-haired severe man in a black suit and navy grey striped tie resting one hand on his desk._

_The pain wasn’t that bad, more mortifying because Hotch was witness to it than anything else._

_Still, Hotch did look genuinely concerned despite the traces of amusement around the lines of his mouth._

_“I’m fine, really.” Spencer straightened his position and gently rubbed the sore spot on his head, any discomfort already fading._

_Hotch looked skeptical and raised a pointed eyebrow._

_That looked made Spencer want to squirm and always made him inexplicably nervous – he didn’t even know why really._

_“Really sir, I’m alright.” Spencer forced himself not to look away from Hotch._

_The man observed him closely with his darkly beautiful – **stop** right there. _

_Spencer could objectively state that Hotch was an attractive man, even if he weren’t bisexual. But Hotch was his boss and really Spencer, what the hell were you doing describing his eyes with the infamous “b” word?_

_It’s just…you wouldn’t think one could use **that** word in reference to Hotch, it certainly wouldn’t be in the top ten list of Hotch appropriate word descriptors. _

_Yet, there the word popped into Spencer’s mind – and he couldn’t in all honesty say it **wasn’t** true, necessarily ._

_Spencer shook himself off the bizarre turn his thoughts had taken._

_Maybe all that extra paper work was muddling his brain._

_“If you say so.” Hotch finally responded. “I actually came over here because of this.”_

_Spencer hadn’t noticed before that moment, but Hotch held a file in the hand dangling at his side and was now holding it out to Spencer._

_With both confusion and curiosity, Spencer reached out and took it. He laid it on the desk and opened it, immediately it appeared to be about the file of an active murder case in Palm Springs California._

_Spencer frowned and looked up at Hotch, intending to ask him why he needed Spencer to look at this file, but Hotch beat him to it._

_“This isn’t strictly BAU territory, however a friend in the PSPD contacted me and there is a code found on an unidentified body that no one has been able to crack in its entirety for nearly two weeks. As you can see, they have suspicions that another murder could happen soon, given the circumstances of the murder, I tend to agree it seems likely.”_

_Spencer nodded in agreement as he looked through the file, taking in every detail in split seconds._

_“I tried taking a look at it myself, but-”_

_“You want me to see what I can do.” Spencer looked back at Hotch for a moment; he nodded. “Alright. I’ll try, is this all the information we have?”_

_“Currently yes, I’ll tell you if I receive anything else. And Reid, thank-you.” Hotch leaned down and squeezed his shoulder once before straightening again._

_Spencer met his eyes for a moment, and found himself swallowing._

_“It’s my job.”_

_Hotch smiled a bit, a rare occurrence in of itself. “You go above and beyond.”_

_Spencer flushed at the honest compliment and looked away with an indifferent shrug; the movement caused him to wince a bit – the soreness in his head still stinging a little._

_He shrugged it off before placing the folder flat and open on top of the desk._

_Spencer heard Hotch moving away and assumed he was leaving Spencer to it. So he quickly found the close up photo of the code, written in numbers and numerals on a sheet of ordinary paper, and quickly glanced over it._

_Many theories instantly jumped to his mind, half of them he dashed before they got a chance to fully form._

_This would be difficult, but not insurmountable. He’ll need more space for this._

_He closed the folder with a quiet plop._

_Spencer was about to get up to find an empty room when something cold touched his head._

_He flinched._

_Spencer quickly moved his head to look up and saw Hotch was standing above him with an ice pack._

_Oh._

_“Sorry, I should’ve asked. I noticed you seemed to be bothered by it.” Hotch motioned to Spencer’s admittedly sore, but not unbearably so, head._

_Hotch…brought me an ice pack._

_Spencer just stared at him. He didn’t know why he was so…shocked by the action. Hotch is a caregiver, and father to a young child._

_Never-the-less, there he was - eyes flicking between Hotch and the ice pack in mild disbelief._

_It was when Hotch began moving the ice pack away that Spencer acted. Even if he didn’t necessarily need it, Hotch brought it and it just…wouldn’t seem right to refuse it._

_“Um, thanks – really.” Spencer said quickly and reached out for the pack, Hotch promptly gave it to him looking slightly bemused at Spencer’s behaviour._

_It did feel good when Spencer pressed the cold object to his head._

_“No problem, wouldn’t want that head of yours to get damaged.”_

_Spencer bit the inside of his cheek._

_Hotch grinned a little and turned to walk away, but then there was a small thud sound – like Hotch’s shoe hit something._

_He saw what it was when Hotch bent down to pick it up._

_Spencer’s eyes widened. It must’ve fallen off my lap when I reached for the file._

_“This is yours I presume.” Hotch handed the book of Horace Odes to Spencer, eyeing it curiously._

_Spencer took it with a grateful nod. “Thank-you sir.”_

_“Exegi monumentum aere perennnius.” Hotch recited while looking off to the side with a vaguely wistful expression._

_Spencer’s eyes bugged out. “‘I have built a monument more lasting than bronze’. You know Horace?” His said with quiet amazement._

_He was not expecting that._

_Hotch shrugged. “I took a few semesters of Latin as an undergrad. Some of it stuck.”_

_Latin is not easy._

_And Hotch knew that off by heart._

_…Why am I still staring at him?_

_“Anyway,” Hotch seemed to shrug off some distant memory, and looked back at Spencer. “Let me know as soon as you can if you figure out the code.” Hotch gestured towards the file._

_Still holding the book, Spencer nodded automatically._

_“Of course, sir.”_

_“Good. I’ll be in my office.” Hotch moved away. “Take care of your head.” He added with a pointed look and walked away._

_With the ice pack pressed gently to his head in one hand – and Odes of Horace in the other, Spencer watched until the office door closed behind Hotch._

_He blinked._

_Then blinked again._

_My pulse is…why isn’t it calming down?_

_“Spencer?”_

_Hotch brought me an ice pack, he knows Horace; he took Latin as an **undergrad**._

_Who **does** that?_

_“Spencer! You alright? What happened to your head?”_

_Spencer got pulled out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the face of a mildly puzzled Derek._

_He then noticed there were two cups of coffee on his desk._

_Oh…I almost forgot._

_Well, I did forget when –_

_“Sorry, I’m fine, just bumped my head when I dropped my book.” There was something…off about his voice._

_Spencer reached out and placed aforementioned book on his desk in front of him. He then stood up and kept one hand on the ice pack and put the folder Hotch gave him under his arm before reaching for one of the coffees._

_“Hotch gave me something to work on, I need to use one of the rooms.” Spencer vaguely explained, not looking at Derek as he did so._

_He quickly scooted around him._

_“Ok…you sure you’re alright?”_

_Spencer paused for a moment._

_I used the word beautiful to describe him._

**_I_ ** _used the word **beautiful** to describe **him.**_

_“Yeah, I’m fine.”_

_Spencer quickly left the room._

No, home has never been a place he lived.

_Aere Perennnius…that’s when it started._

_That’s when I began to realize the truth._

_I have loved you for a long time, Aaron._

~

 

 

Alex Blake enters her office after a long day of teaching. Actually, it was one of the better days, when those she taught and interacted with genuinely wanted to engage and weren’t just there out of obligation. She could only imagine the disparity in consistency and attitude would be much worse in younger students.

Ultimately, good or bad days, she loves her job. Good and wonderful things are on the horizon, she gets to see her husband more often than she used to years ago.

Their arrangement worked for a long time, but there is a breaking point for everything.

It stopped working, and so they adapted.

She misses her old job, but mostly she misses the people. Particularly those she worked with before leaving for where she is now.

They aren’t completely out of contact altogether. She still talks with them often, Alex and her husband even went down for a visit one year.

She misses them, but this is where she belongs.

And right now, she looks forward to a quick organizing of her materials and an even speedier exit to get home and into the Jacuzzi tub.

Alex takes off her bag and unzips it while walking over to her desk.

It isn’t until she put it’s down on top, preparing to take out the tests to grade later, that she spots the oddity innocently laid on the keyboard of her computer.

It’s a flower.

Alex frowns, and reaches out to pick it up.

However, when she spots the note card with a _very_ familiar looking substance on it she inhales sharply and stops her hand; old training kicking in immediately.

“Blood.”

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

_"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong._

_No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.”_

_~ Terry Pratchett_

 

 

_He lays on an icy, smooth surface. Nothing surrounds him. Nothing. He is terrified. He tries to move, pulling with his arms and legs, but it is no use – Spencer is trapped._

_“Why…why can’t I move…?” Tears fill his eyes, overflowing and running in rivulets over every inch of his bare, naked skin._

_And then, he sees it._

_A face appears in the darkness above him. The face that haunted taunted and tortured him and everyone he loves for months, a face of hatred and anger morphed into the worst of human action._

_Mr. Scratch._

_But, no, he’s dead. Mr. – Peter is dead._

_Breathe Spencer, breathe, this isn’t real…_

_“Everything you saw, everything you felt and feel is an illusion, I have you…I have you now…” Lewis speaks his face a floating mirage of translucent cloud in the rippling darkness._

_“No.” Spencer breathes out. His arms and legs remain immobile icy limbs of useless flesh._

_And he is so scared._

_He can’t remember ever feeling this hopelessly terrified._

_“Your fear is mine.” Peter Lewis whispers with hot, burning breath._

_“No!”_

_Spencer’s scream is painful knives to his ears, there might even be blood pouring out of them, but at the sound the phantasm of Peter Lewis vanishes._

_Nothing but darkness remains._

_No…no that’s not right._

_Spencer feels something; a touch, a soft warm tingling in the tips of his fingers on both hands._

_He frantically moves his head back and forth, trying to find the source of new sensation. His arms disappear into the black somewhere beyond his elbow, so it isn’t until the warmth – a bubbling relief – begins to spread that he sees._

_It’s them._

_Spencer stares to his right with wide, bright eyes._

_The all-encompassing fear he feels is ebbing away._

_A very familiar hand lightly strokes his trembling skin, moving closer and closer until he can see –_

_“Aaron.”_

_That face, stark and beautiful in its familiarity washes him over with pleasant, blanketing warmth._

_Spencer sees him, lying on his side, completely parallel to his own prone form – that strong, calloused hand continuously stroking his arm._

_Dark stormy eyes gaze into his from barely inches away._

_He is still in the darkness, the cold is still icy on his back, but Spencer isn’t alone._

_“Aaron.” Spencer whimpers. “I’m sorry.” He wishes he could move, but the unseen force holding him here is still present – he can only watch as the man, near and dear to his heart watches him with a sad, yet soft smile; touching him, comforting him._

_He isn’t speaking, but Spencer finds he doesn’t mind._

_He’s here, close, beside him, Aaron…he isn’t alone._

_“Spencer.”_

_A voice calls out to him, but it isn’t from the man lying beside him with watchful eyes – it’s a woman, a gentle voice emanating from his left._

_The only thing that makes Spencer feel safe enough to turn away is the constant, reassuring feeling of a tender hand never stopping in the warming trek across his skin._

_He looks to his left._

_A stabbing ache spreads and replaces the warmth Aaron’s hand._

_Tears return, and Spencer feels shame in letting them go._

_“Maeve.”_

_She’s there, in a position similar to Aaron – except she isn’t touching him, she emanates warmth, but it is warmth that burns._

_Her smile, her delicate hands folded lightly underneath her face – practically nose to nose with him, it scratches at his insides like he’s swallowed glass._

_For a moment, Spencer allowed himself to feel comfort, and strong hands transforming his cold skin into something worthwhile, he allowed himself to forget the glass cutting and bleeding him from the inside out._

_Maeve smiles._

_“You need to let it dissolve.” She whispers, reaching out a hand that hovers above his cheek. “You hold it in you, and my love – you bleed.” Her hand moves to hover over his heart._

_Spencer inhales shakily, breath broken by sorrow. “I can’t, I can’t – it will just…it will-”_

_“Shh.” Maeve purses her lips, and gently touches his with a chilled fingertip. “You don’t know that.”_

_Frosty air wars with cascading warm across his naked body, causing a thin layer of mist and fog to appear above his body._

_Spencer shakes his head, his body begins to tremble. “The devil you know…” He trails off, unable to speak anymore with how labored his breathing has become._

_“…is better than the devil you don’t.” Maeve finishes, pulling her hand away. She looks at him thoughtfully. “Is it? All you see is the devil, and none of the angels.”_

_Spencer uselessly tries blinking away his tears as he turns away from her, and instead looks above him._

_Nothing. There is nothing._

_“And there never will be anything else if all you see is the devil.” Her voice echoes near and far, emphasizing his bleeding within. “Let it dissolve.”_

_“I…I don’t want you to go.” Spencer finds his voice at the same time he feels tingling movement return to his arms._

_They move of their own accord, curling up and towards him. One surrounds Maeve as she settles on his chest, cheek to bare cold skin – one hand laid gently over his pounding heart._

_The other, he feels enveloping the thick, larger body of Aaron. He settles into the smooth, perfectly carved out groove of Spencer’s neck._

_Aaron’s hand rests gently on top of Maeve’s._

_“We’re not going anywhere.” Aaron and Maeve murmur in chorus, their hands now joined in a protective barrier across the heart of Spencer Reid._

_He lays on an icy, smooth surface._

_But in his arms, he holds his bleeding angels._

 

Loud banging abruptly wakes Spencer from his uneasy sleep.

He sits up suddenly with blood pounding in his head as a result of the brusque movement.

“Shit.” Spencer murmurs as he folds forward and rests his head in his hands; his shirtless torso exposed to the cool draft blowing in from the slight opening of his bedroom window.

His eyes open in the palms of his hands, and for a moment all he sees is darkness – and it viscerally reminds him of the _dream._

Spencer sighs and links his hands together behind his neck.

_What **was** that?_

That dream…it was, _different_ , even if it contained many of the same elements as his nightmares.

He can still feel cold hardness against his back, and the feeling of Hotch and Maeve in his arms; cold and warmth warring over him, bleeding and _pain_ and –

Spencer shudders.

He can’t even _begin_ to think of a way to process it all.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to.

Yesterday was…intense - at least, he _assumes_ it’s not still yesterday. Spencer lets his hands fall and glances at the clock at his bedside; 7:00am.

_Right._

Spencer breathes deeply and collapses back in bed, staring at the speckled ceiling above; thinking.

After he’d gotten home, with a quietly in thought Maeve in tow, Spencer didn’t say a word to her. All he had wanted to do was just sleep.

And sleep he did it seems.

Although he first spent many hours trapped in deep thought, either lying on his couch or doing just what he is now – lying horizontal in bed, have a staring contest with the ceiling.

It was probably self-indulgent and pathetic of him, and he hadn’t been able to get much past the fog of chaotic emotion and debate anyway, but Spencer had so desperately needed the quiet he discovered.

Since he ended up sleeping for over fourteen hours.

Spencer isn’t even sure what conclusions he came to exactly, except that he can’t help but be grateful for Maeve letting him be even though he felt on several occasions she wanted to ask him something. And she was there, the whole time, a silent phantom observer.

Luke’s words, Maeve’s, and his own disparate thoughts, all plagued him – still do.

Ultimately, he has only truly realized one thing – as much as he hates it, and his dream said it for him, _“we’re not going anywhere”_

It’s true. Maeve, Hotch – both for different, yet eerily similar reasons, are stuck in his mind and heart like the strongest of stone.

If he can start with finding a way of honestly approaching Maeve and figuring out her reasons for being here _without_ having a semi-panic attack and wanting to run and hide each time, that would be great. As for his feelings about _Hotch_ …

Spencer had allowed himself to remember the _moment_ he began to – the words he’d beat down underneath everything else, never allowing himself to think or say _it_ even though his heart knew them to be true.

_I love you._

Spencer groans and presses the heels of his palms tightly to the damp building in his eyes.

_No, not now._

_One step at a time._

“Yes, one step at a time.” He breathes out shakily. _Deal with the rest later._

_Maeve is probably out there. I should…I have to talk to her._

Spencer did tell her about what happened with Jack, but he is well aware of the fact that he has so far been avoiding talking with her about anything pertaining to… _them_ , or their situation.

 _Everything is just…happening so fast._ Spencer feels like he’s still reeling from her sudden appearance.

With Maeve bound to him like she is – what Luke talked about carries weight; if Spencer doesn’t find a way to deal with this, she’ll be stuck here and so will he.

He may not concur with the implication that she’s holding him back _from_ something, since for the life of him Spencer has no idea what that _something_ could be, but she is here for a reason – whatever that reason may be.

The universe is more than occasionally cruel.

It’s when Spencer leaves his bed and dons his robe that he remembers what woke him in the first place; knocking.

Immediately, he’s significantly more awake – regardless of the fact that he hasn’t had coffee yet. (Spencer did make a quick stop at a nearby store for coffee in the early evening - before coming back and promptly passing out in bed - knowing he would need it in the morning)

Spencer pauses with his hand on his partially closed bedroom door.

_So early?_

Spencer takes his phone out of the robe pocket, and turns it on. No messages.

It would be unusual for any one of the team to arrive at his door this early without notifying him first. Not only that, whoever knocked did so only once – and loudly, before stopping. If it were one of his friends and family, they would’ve kept knocking until he dragged himself out of bed.

Still feeling the lingering edges of the dream, Spencer pushes open the door and leaves his room; intent on seeing who tried getting his attention this early in the day.

He isn’t at all surprised to see Maeve once again casually perusing his books – a sight he’s almost growing used to, _almost_.

Obviously having heard him, Maeve turns her head to look at him with a cautious smile.

A phantom image of Maeve lying beside him, hand hovering over the icy pallor of his skin, flashes in his mind.

_“Let it dissolve…”_

That image is immediately followed by the one of Hotch and Maeve embracing their hands over Spencer’s chest.

As if in response, his heart pounds a loud rhythm in his ears.

Spencer audibly swallows.

“Hello.” Spencer tries giving her a small smile in return, but it ends up feeling more akin to a grimace.

_One step at a time._

“Good morning, you slept for a long time.” Her words are an observation, but her eyes shine with many questions.

_Did you have any nightmares?_

_What’s on your mind?_

_How are you after yesterday?_

_Are you ready to talk?_

Spencer doubts he’ll ever be ready.

“I was about to come wake you, if I could.” Maeve continues, nodding towards the apartment door.

Spencer yawns and walks towards it, rubbing the back of his neck. Maeve returns to viewing his mini library.

He stops walking, hand poised to open the door, when he hears a near inaudible gasp.

Spencer looks to see Maeve quirking a curious smile while crouching down in front of a bookshelf third up from the ground, nearly hidden behind a box of even _more_ books Spencer has never gotten around to unpacking.

Maeve is slowly reaching out, mouth slightly open – eyes glistening, with her fingers hovering over the spine of a very, _very_ familiar book.

Spencer is frozen in position because he knows _exactly_ what she must’ve noticed. He knew it was only a matter of time before she saw it.

The Narrative of John Smith; the very copy she left for him in that restaurant after their failed attempt to meet.

The book he couldn’t let go of for weeks after she died.

_‘Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another.’_

Spencer expected the feelings of sorrow, the hot sting of tears, upon seeing her with that book, but what he didn’t expect was the feeling of… _completion,_ there really is no other word for it.

The mix of emotions has his stomach roiling.

Maeve looks up at him from her crouched position.

She doesn’t say a word, simply smiles before quickly looking away and off to the side; hiding her face from him.

It is probably the first time since she appeared, to Spencer’s knowledge, that she’s noticeably done so.

She inhales, but her frame is shaky like – like _she’s_ holding back tears.

_Oh no…_

He clenches his hand.

_Should I…?_

Spencer takes a careful step forward.

“Maeve?”

_What am I doing? It’s not like I can… **hug** her, or anything._

_I wish I could._

“I’m ok, I’m ok.” She insists, sniffling.

Maeve then quickly stands out of her crouch, any sadness she feels shuttered away behind a mask of relative calm – the obvious falseness of it betrayed by the way she won’t quite meet Spencer’s eyes.

The shift from obvious sadness to cordiality is giving him emotional whiplash.

_Maybe this is how **she** feels._

Spencer nods, cautious and unsure – really feeling extremely out of his depth here.

_I read that book front to back every day for over a year after you died._

_Since then, I haven’t touched it._

He’s torn, between seeing if anything resulted in the ungodly banging on his door, going over to Maeve or simply electing to stand here like a lost child.

Maeve speaking again pulls him out of the indecision.

“I tried looking through the peephole, but I didn’t see anyone.” She hugs herself tightly, briefly looking Spencer in the eye before gesturing again towards the door.

 _That_ halts Spencer’s mind.

_There was no one there?_

“Odd…” He frowns. Spencer isn’t exactly prone to receiving prank knocks.

Spencer really hopes it’s over caution and paranoia as a result of being an FBI Agent that has his brain pinging him with unease.

The moment between him, Maeve and The Narrative of John Smith is pushed aside as Spencer reaches out, grasps the doorknob and pulls open his front door.

At first glance there is nothing, but when Spencer looks down –

A flower. A small, lone yellow flower, tied with baby pink ribbon has been deliberately and carefully placed in front of his door. Whoever left it is obviously long gone.

“What is it?” Maeve asks from close behind him.

Her query goes unanswered as Spencer kneels down to view the flower closer – very carefully _not_ touching it.

Upon closer inspection he sees the note intertwined with the ribbon; written in a dark, flaking substance that looks suspiciously like dried blood.

On it are only two words.

_For Her._

 

~

 

Rossi’s morning routine on his days off consists of three things; tea, his notebook, the recently delivered newspaper and hopefully, a few long hours spent reclining in the self-indulgence he gifted himself last year – the most comfortable chair in existence thank-you very much.

He woke that morning perhaps a bit earlier than usual, still not quite used to the reality of an entire month of leave, but relishing the break regardless.

With the kettle on, and acting very much the cliché of robed middle-age man vs morning newspaper, Rossi exits his house.

It’s a cool morning, a light mist blankets the ground and the dew is still fresh, not yet cast away by the morning sun.

Vestiges of sleep still cling to him, but the moisture feels good on the bare soles of his feet.

Rossi crosses the lawn towards the paper inexpertly delivered halfway up his driveway and on the edge of the wet grass.

He bends down on a yawn to pick it up but abruptly stops.

“What the hell?”

There is a flower on top of it, donned with pink ribbon and a carefully placed note:

_For Her._

 

~

 

Savannah is pregnant again.

Neither of them has told anyone yet. It was hell not saying anything the night of the dinner, but they’d both agreed on waiting until the doctor’s appointment confirmed or denied the pregnancy tests before telling anyone.

Being a father was a reality Derek had always wanted and feared, and when the moment came – it was nothing like he’d imagined.

It was better.

His son is still young, yet the prospect of being a father for a second time feels him with the same joy he felt when he first held Hank Spencer Morgan in his arms.

Savannah being pregnant is also why Derek is on his way to his car at six in the morning.

Because at this point, regardless of the lack of doctor confirmation yet – given that Savannah has been feeling nauseous every day for the past week, they’re about 98% sure.

She woke up half an hour ago, spewing her guts out. And Derek swears she was going to cry when he told her they were out of Gingerale.

Hence, Derek intent driving to the all night grocery with one goal; a hefty supply of Gingerale.

He is about to open the car door when he sees something pinned underneath the windshield wiper.

A flower.

 

~

 

Emily is staying and JJ and Will’s. After agreeing to become the new Unit Chief, she immediately began looking for a permanent home. She finally found a converted loft apartment she quickly fell in love with, however it needed another week or two before it would be completed.

It is also, coincidentally, not far from JJ and Will.

It didn’t take much convincing on their part when they offered to let her stay until the apartment was ready. Emily had quickly grown tired of the hotel she would stay at, for often long periods of time, when in the states working with her old colleagues.

Emily honestly never thought she would be back here, let alone as “the boss”, but despite the years and experiences separating them – it was a remarkably easy choice for her to make. Even though she wished it would’ve happened after better circumstances.

Hotch leaving, however understandable, won’t be an easy transition for many.

She is grateful for the couple months of time she has before officially starting in the new yet achingly familiar job, not just to get used to the idea of being Unit Chief – but to transition her life from England back to the USA.

More so than any of the others, Emily is most worried about Spencer. She knows JJ is too. He is the closest of friends and dearest of brothers to her, and she knows very well how poorly he deals with change.

The fact that it is _Hotch_ leaving…Emily knows will make it all the more difficult.

She may not have been a consistently present force in their lives for a while, but even with the gaps in time – Emily has taken the time to observe each of her family closely whenever she had the chance to see them.

And Emily noticed even _before_ the circumstances that forced her out of their lives that first time.

Spencer is _not_ as subtle as he thinks.

The only thing she wasn’t positive of was how aware he was of his own heart and mind, so she didn’t say anything.

She still isn’t entirely sure to be honest, however what happened with Jack – and when she saw him for the first time after that (the dinner at Derek’s house), Emily is _positive_ something has changed, whatever that change may be.

It isn’t just her; they’re _all_ worried about him.

Again, Spencer isn’t as subtle as he thinks.

However no one is jumping on the confront Spencer about his feelings train, because, unlike Spencer – Hotch is _painfully_ subtle and often difficult to read.

No one is eager to approach this not knowing how one half of it may react, especially since it could result in at least one of them being broken-hearted – if Spencer isn’t already.

So no, none of them are saying anything.

But if there is one thing Emily knows, it is that everything will come to a head eventually no matter what you do.

With that, and significantly more mundane issues on her mind (like – double or queen mattress? Splurge for a king?), Emily has been having trouble sleeping.

And apparently, so is JJ.

Dawn is barely breaking the horizon when Emily descends the stairs fully dressed. JJ and Will situated her in their guest room, and Emily is incredibly grateful for their hospitality – and has made a point to contribute to the household in any way she can during her stay, completely ignoring them when they say she doesn’t have to do anything.

She may be feeling tired from the barely five hours sleep she got, but Emily is intent on using the time spared from her disrupted sleep to indulge in multiple cups of coffee while finagling JJ’s temperamental car into submission if she can.

Her adventurous life has granted her many eclectic skills, including a fairly decent knowledge and knowhow around cars.

However, when Emily enters the kitchen she notices JJ (still in her pajamas) sitting at the island perusing on her laptop, a cup of some generic herbal tea beside her half empty.

“Oh, good morning.” Emily says with some surprise, a big yawn escaping as she makes her way over to the kettle and French press coffee maker.

“Mornin’,” JJ responds with a tired smile. “I see I’m not the only one with sleep troubles.”

“Nope.” Emily emphasizes the point by rubbing her tired eyes, willing herself to go through the process of coffee making _faster_ please. “I know what my issues are, what about yours?” With the kettle on, Emily turns around and eyes JJ with concern. “Michael?”

JJ closes the lid of her laptop with a shake of her head. Then proceeds to stretch her arms high before moving off the island stool, gulping down the rest of her tea and carrying the now empty cup over to the sink.

“No, he’s actually been sleeping better lately – certainly more so than Henry at that age.” JJ says this on the tail end of a yawn of her own, rinsing out her mug and placing it beside the sink before turning around to face Emily directly.

Emily often has trouble picturing herself as a mother, however spending so much time around JJ’s boys really has been more fun than she thought it would be.

“That’s good,” Emily nods. “So what’s bothering you?” She moves closer to JJ, leans into her side and wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders.

JJ sighs and pats Emily’s hand, giving her a sad smile before looking away.

“Probably the same thing that’s bothering you.”

_Of course._

_Spencer, I’m sorry if we worry about you too much._

They share a commiserating look before the kettle suddenly goes off, and Emily moves away to make the coffee.

A few minutes later, when the coffee is made and Emily has managed to convince JJ that she actually _wants_ to take a look at her car – _“please don’t worry about it”_ , she takes her first cup with her towards the front door, and where the car is parked nearby in the driveway instead of the garage.

JJ is still in the kitchen when Emily opens the front door, shoes on.

There is a sound of something crunching beneath her foot when Emily takes her first step out the door.

With a grimace, Emily takes her foot off.

Her eyebrows promptly lift to her hairline.

_What on earth…_

“Um…JJ?” She calls out behind her.

Emily hears JJ’s footsteps quickly coming towards her, and soon she is at her side and looking at her with crinkled eyebrows.

“What is it?” Emily moves aside so JJ can see the oddity at their feet. “Oh.”

On the doormat, now slightly squished, is one flower.

It looks like some kind of lily.

Additionally, it is tied with a baby pink ribbon and upon closer inspection Emily notices a notecard attached.

Emily and JJ both kneel to look closer.

Emily doesn’t have to look at JJ to know that her expression of puzzlement matches her own.

That confusion doesn’t last, when Emily uses the toe of her shoe to flip over the note card and the two of them see what’s written upon it and with what – they freeze instantly.

“Is…Is that what I think it is?” JJ murmurs.

Emily inhales sharply. “I think so.”

It could be something else, but with the flaking, browning edges and spots of red still visible, Emily is fairly certain the note is written in _blood._

There are only two words; _For Her._

 

~

 

Hotch saw it when he left home for his morning run.

It was tied to the side mirror of his car with pink ribbon, swaying slightly in the cool morning breeze; a single flower, note card fluttering with it.

At first he was more bemused than anything, but now – staring at the message written on the nondescript note card, with a growing sense of unease building in his gut, Hotch’s instinct are telling him this is anything but an innocent flower.

If he didn’t know something was wrong before, he knows it when he reads the note, stilling it from the wind against the car door with the point of keys.

_For Her._

And he _definitely_ knows it when barely a few minutes later he receives a troubling call from Emily Prentiss.

 

~

 

“For her…” The words resonate with Spencer like an ominous bell warning of an oncoming storm.

It’s barely been a minute since Spencer first saw the flower, but it was long enough for Spencer’s mind to ping with the identity of the flower; small, yellow, _Tussilago Farfara_ – more commonly known as ‘coltsfoot’.

The placement, the flower, the note – _all_ of this is obviously deliberate. Especially given that the note appears to be in blood, and the way it is smeared makes it appear as though it was written with a finger.

_This is very intentional._

_But **what** is the intention?_

Spencer wants to pick it up and examine it closer, but this feels like a message of some kind. A message carefully and purposefully placed at his door, and if coltsfoots meaning in the language of flowers is any indicator, whoever left this at his door likely doesn’t have _positive_ intentions – _“justice shall be done”._ That’s assuming the choice of flower was deliberate.

Paranoid or not, his job has repeatedly – often painfully – proven to him that on their face, the most innocent of actions can often hide the most nefarious of intentions.

Spencer sense Maeve hovering over his shoulder.

“Is that… _coltsfoot?_ ” Maeve finally asks, clearly mystified.

Spencer doesn’t look at her, but he does nod. “I believe so.” Uttering his first words since opening the door.

“What-”

Whatever Maeve was about to ask is interrupted by the sudden and loud ringing of Spencer’s phone from within the apartment.

He immediately stands up and swirls around, heading towards the ringing phone in his bedroom and leaving Maeve standing in the open doorway.

Spencer’s heart is pounding, and finds he isn’t all that surprised when he picks up the phone from his bedside table and sees its Emily calling.

When he answers it, a part of him already knows what she’s going to ask – despite wanting his intuition to be wrong.

He isn’t.

“Spencer, have you received anything…unusual?” No preamble on Emily’s part, that doesn’t bode well.

Spencer clenches his eyes shut, cursing inwardly.

_What is happening **now?**_

“Who else has gotten a flower?” He answers her question by asking one of his own.

Emily swears, and then sighs.

Spencer is already pacing across the floor of his bedroom.

“Me and JJ found one on the doormat this morning, everyone is alright, I got a call from Hotch shortly after-” Spencer abruptly stops pacing, rapidly feeling sick. _Him too?_ “-he got one too - ” Emily continues, unaware of Spencers mini-panic attack.

“Is he ok?” Spencer interrupts breathless, without thinking, and then proceeds to punch the wall at far too revealing slip. _If he weren’t, she would’ve led with that you **idiot.** And didn’t she **just** say everyone is alright? (Thank god)_

_Shit._

_It’s just…Scratch wasn’t that long ago, and with what happened with Jack, what if -_

 “He’s fine.” Emily, bless her, doesn’t call him out. If her voice has a softer tone to it, Spencer is quite frankly too distracted to care. “I called the rest of the team, and talked with what former team members I could get a hold of, just to be safe. The only other ones, who got a flower, all apparently with the same ribbon and note, are Rossi, Derek and Alex Blake.”

_Alex?_

**_Alex_ ** _got one?_

Spencer is awash in confusion.

_What the hell is going on?_

“I don’t know, none of us do – not yet.”

Oh, Spencer hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He hears Emily talking with someone – _JJ?_

“I take it leave is over?” Theories and possible connections are already running rampant through his mind.

“For now, until we figure this out.”

It’s not just him.

Sometimes, it really does seem like they’re _all_ cursed.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

_Real love is always chaotic. You lose control; you lose perspective._

_You lose the ability to protect yourself. The greater the love, the greater the chaos._

_I_ _t’s a given and that’s the secret._

_~ Jonathan Carroll_

 

 

The following hour is a chaotic mess.

You would think the possibility of being thrown back into work – sort of – would be a distraction from his other problems.

That maybe his mind would be _entirely_ focused on the immediate reality of the direct, personal action taken towards some members of the team (past and present); a seemingly innocuous action that could very well be a prelude to something far more serious.

But no, it seems all aspects of Spencer’s current circumstances, his state of mind, are destined to follow him wherever he goes – no matter what he’s does, or what he’s doing.

Because despite the hypotheses’ building his mind based on what little information he has so far, Maeve has yet to leave his side since he got the call from Emily; she is so far being a consistent, mostly unobtrusive presence at his side and that makes it near impossible to forget everything else.

That and Spencer is finding it exceedingly hard to _not_ focus on the fact that the people closest to him are being personally targeted, at their homes, including Hotch.

There are enough subtle indicators that make it difficult for Spencer to believe this is merely some elaborate prank.

Ultimately, Spencer is not as focused as he ought to be – events of late have severely depleted any objectivity he had.

Currently, the group is getting situated in the Quantico BAU briefing room.

He notices that everyone, even those who weren’t flower recipients, are here. Their group is one that tends to band together when a potential crisis arises, leave or not it seems. At present, that includes himself; Emily, JJ, Rossi, Tara, Luke, Garcia and Derek.

Since Alex is in Boston, he wasn’t really expecting her to be there.

However, the glaring and notable exception is Hotch.

Spencer (apparently one of the last one to arrive) is frowning as he takes his seat. The few not already seated also take a chair.

Luke sits on his left.

“I wonder who we pissed off this time.” He mutters.

Spencer snorts. _Many, but that doesn’t explain why only a select few received flowers within the same relative span of time_ , Spencer silently considers in his head.

They need more information; hopefully this gathering will prove enlightening.

“You ok man?” Luke whispers to him.

Spencer knows he must look terrible, despite the long and recent sleep he had, he stills feels deprived of energy – and he knows it must be showing. He hasn’t shaved for a few days, could probably use a shower (he normally would’ve taken one, but he left the apartment in a hurry), and is wearing a simple maroon cardigan that has seen better days, along with an unassuming black jacket and pants.

And he’s pretty sure he put his undershirt on inside out.

“Yes.” Spencer answers with an absentminded nod, not looking at him directly and hoping the one word answer will placate his friend, especially in light of where they are.

It does.

The bright side at the moment is the two pots of coffee Spencer just notices are sitting steaming hot in the middle of the table, surrounded by mugs and various coffee paraphernalia.

Spencer eagerly reaches forward to make himself the darkest, sweetest concoction he possibly can; anything to give him a little more focus.

Nearly everyone else does the same thing, although no one uses nearly as much sweetener as he does.

It’s when he takes that first, _glorious_ , sip that he notices Maeve slowly making her way around the room, observing them all.

However, his attention quickly becomes fixated on the blatantly empty chair to his right.

Spencer feels an ache in his chest. And if there are phantom memories of a warm, calloused hand stroking the bare skin of his arm…he disregards them.

_You should be here._

He grits his teeth and promptly chastises himself for the selfish wish, Hotch is probably with Jack.

Like Will is with Michael and Henry, and Savannah along with Hank are apparently in Rossi’s office – according to Derek, whom he nearly ran into when exiting the elevator far too quickly.

He takes another sip of his coffee.

Emily coughs pointedly, and everyone is abruptly silent and focused on her. She stands, every inch the Unit Chief – the fact that she hasn’t technically started yet doesn’t seem to matter.

“I’m sure you all know why we’re here,” Everyone collectively nods. “There are already people at the scenes where the flowers were found; hopefully we’ll get the forensic analysis results off the notes soon,” Emily takes a deep breath, settling herself into a visibly professional state of mind. _She **will** make a good boss._ Not that Spencer actually doubted she would. “I talked with Blake, and she is insisting on coming out here to be on hand for a short while in case we need her. She told me she hopes to be here by tomorrow morning.”

So Alex _is_ coming.

The relationship they developed while she worked in the BAU was unlike any of the others Spencer has established during his time here, friendship yes but also…she was always motherly towards him, and he knows that he reminds her a great deal of her son, a truth that coloured their relationship for a while.

Ignoring everything else, Spencer has missed her and it will be good seeing her again.

Emily reaches down for her own cup of coffee and takes a fortifying gulp before audibly exhaling. “I realize we are in a bit of a grey area here, considering our personal involvement and the fact that we are technically still on leave. However, or perhaps because of the special circumstances, the Director is so far allowing us to be involved in this-” No one interrupts her, but Spencer can see the same look on everyone’s face; even if they had been barred from having _any_ involvement (which could still happen) it wouldn’t have stopped them, not when their own people are apparently being targeted. “-Here is as good a place as any to theorize on what we know at this point.” Emily finishes and resumes her seat. “Penelope,” She nods kindly towards a noticeably tired Garcia.

Garcia yawns but stands up without comment, remote in hand.

However, before she can say or do anything, there is a light knock on the door and a familiar voice resonates throughout the relatively small room.

“Hello everyone, sorry I’m late, I would’ve been here sooner but I needed to wait for Jessica.”

There are greetings, somewhat subdued given the circumstances, all around. Spencer tenses and pointedly doesn’t turn around.

_There is only one empty chair available._

He ignores how Maeve’s attention is suddenly _very_ much focused on the man pulling out the chair beside Spencer; bright eyes thoughtfully watching him from the other side of the table.

_You’re a grown man._

_Just breathe._

“No worries Hotch.”  Emily smiles.

Hotch sits, and Rossi – sitting to his right, pats the man lightly on the arm with a sympathetic nod.

Spencer turns his head slightly and watches as Hotch moves the chair a bit closer and unbuttons his jacket, revealing a deep green cardigan beneath.

“I see you’re doing well.” Hotch comments with a smile in Emily’s direction as he slides his arms out of the jacket sleeves, draping the garment across the back of his chair.

“I’m no Aaron Hotchner.” Emily shrugs with a commiserating grin.

Tara, sitting beside her, reaches over and squeezes her hand once.

Hotch settles himself easily at the table, and if it weren’t for the lack of suit – Spencer could almost think nothing has changed.

He shakes his head a little. “I wouldn’t use myself as a staple example; you’re doing fine from what I saw before entering.”

Emily nods. “Thank-you Hotch.” Spencer can tell she’s pleased, even if she isn’t obviously showing it. “Anyway, now that we’re all here…”

The mood is quickly brought back down to earth now that the disruption caused by Hotch’s arrival is over.

Hotch clasps his hands together and rests his arms on the table, which brings his left arm in very close proximity to his own.

Spencer flinches and moves his arm out of the way without stopping to think how the sudden action would look to anyone who noticed.

Spencer looks to his left to see Luke looking at him oddly.

 _Shit._ He shrugs off the action before looking back towards Emily.

_Get a hold of yourself!_

At least Hotch didn’t seem to notice.

Even if Luke, and apparently Maeve – gathering by the knowing look she is casting over in his direction.

It seems recent events have granted Spencer with extra sensitivity to the man’s presence that increases each time he sees him, making it hard to ignore the man currently seated at his side.

_Fantastic._

_Priorities Spencer, priorities._

Garcia, remote in hand, resumes moving towards the screen on the wall.

They may not have been able to each bring their flower to this meeting, due to them being properly processed, however they did each take photos of them. Spencer sent his to Garcia via email on his way here, and he knows the others did as well.

“Thanks for the pics guys,” Garcia presses a button and the screen turns on, everyone’s focus draws to it. “Based on what Emily told me, I put them in the order these…things were found in. Alex, Derek, Rossi, Hotch, JJ and then Spencer. Not exactly _gifts_.” The lines of her mouth are pinched in a worried expression, and her eyes keep flickering towards…Spencer.

_Why?_

He assumes what he heard this morning was whoever did this delivering his own flower, and if the others all found theirs before…then he really was last.  

Spencer’s brow crinkles in thought.

_Could be coincidental I suppose –_

His thought is cut off midstream when Garcia finally starts showing the pictures, in order and then lined up together on the screen.

Everyone is silent and tension fills the room once she’s finished.

Spencer froze when the first picture was shown, as did Maeve, his heartrate increasing as each one was subsequently revealed – until finally his was shown, and _everyone_ stiffened.

No wonder Garcia was eyeing him oddly before.

Spencer’s flower is different.

The _only_ one that’s different.

The flower Spencer received is coltsfoot, the others are all lilies. More specifically, he recognizes them as Asphodel lilies, as they are commonly known as.

He knows what everyone is thinking. Not only was the fact that his flower _was_ delivered last deliberate, but that whatever is going on – Spencer it seems may be a central target of it.

Spencer feels everyone’s eyes on him, all with varying expressions of worry, he tries to ignore it, instead staring at the pictures bright on the screen directly across from where he’s sitting; his mind a haze of white noise.

Maeve walks around the table to stand behind him. Spencer feels a tingling at the back of his neck where her hand must be hovering – before the feeling abruptly disappears as her hand must fall away.

However, the thing Spencer is most painfully aware of is of course the stare of the man sitting directly to his right.

Even before he came to lo - _before_ , Spencer had always felt Hotch’s stare with forceful intensity whenever it was directed at him. He assumes everyone did, does.

Only now it’s much, _much_ more difficult for Spencer filter if not completely impossible.

“Is there _any_ way this is an elaborate joke or prank?” Derek posits, his eyes flickering between Spencer and the screen.

“I hope so, but…” Luke trails off.

“With our history, it’s best not to take chances.” Rossi adds, eyeing Spencer.

Spencer notices everyone nodding in agreement, JJ looks like she’s physical restraining herself from getting up and coming over to him probably.

He hears their voices talking, but Spencer is fixated on the pictures of the flowers before him, mind racing with the implications.

Coltsfoot, tussilago farfara; derived from the latin _tussis_ , very common – almost weed like. _“justice shall be done”_

_Justice shall be done… **upon** me? _

_But, the others got Asphodelus, significantly **less** common than Coltsfoot…formerly, yet still commonly known as an Asphodel Lily._

_And **that** means –_

“My regrets follow you to the grave.” Maeve mutters from directly behind him.

Spencer nods absentmindedly and turns to glance at her briefly, her gentle eyes are glued to him with more than a little worry.

_Yes. My regrets follow you to the grave…remembered beyond the tomb._

Spencer swallows and turns back around, once again fixated on the spectacle of flowers before him – heavy with ominous implication.

_Why…why those specific people? The fact that Alex was included, living a significant distance away from the rest of us…_

His thoughts are interrupted when a heavy hand gently touches his shoulder, bringing his attention back to the present.

Spencer flinches in surprise.

When he looks around he notices everyone is looking at him strangely.

They were probably trying to get his attention, and he just didn’t notice.

“Reid?”

Spencer blinks and frowns at the hand resting lightly on his shoulder before looking up.

_Oh._

It’s Hotch, of course.

Spencer inhales sharply when he notices those stormy eyes focused on him with such unblinking intensity; worry creasing deep lines on his forehead.

_Why is he so close?_

“I’m-” Spencer swallows deeply, ashamed when his voice fails him.

_I should look away, why can’t I look away?_

Hotch frowns.

_His hand is **still** there._

Spencer clenches his hands tightly together, knuckles stark white against the flush of his skin and curses the way his heart begins beating staccato.

_Shit._

_No. **No.** Not now._

_Damn you Aaron._

“I’m _fine_.” Spencer finishes through sheer force of will, shrugging and sharply pulling in his arms closer; around himself, unceremoniously resulting in Hotch’s hand falling away.

**_Not. Now._ **

He very pointedly does _not_ look at Hotch, or at the multiple stares aimed in his direction.

_Breathe, just breathe – there are more pressing things to worry about than my own dwindling lack of control._

 “The flower I received is tussilago farfara, coltsfoot, although considered an invasive species in some areas it has often been used medicinally. As for the rest, they’re all Asphodelus, it is still thought of as a subspecies of lily by most, despite the fact it is no longer included in the Liliaceae.”

Central target or not, this isn’t just about him – people he loves have been targeted as well, and if this does turn out to be more nefarious than it seems…Spencer would never forgive himself if he allowed his personal state of mind to interfere and someone consequently suffered for it.

That would be a greater tragedy than whatever pain he’s feeling now.

“Since the meanings of both flowers are significant, especially Asphodelus which has many roots in mythology, especially Ancient Greek, and poetry associated with death, the core meanings can be summed up with the phrases ‘justice shall be done’ and ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, even if the timing and manner of the deliveries weren’t as carefully planned as they had to have been, the flower connotations and messages _alone_ – written most likely in blood suggests the choice of flowers is deliberate and important to the giver. However, it is hard to differentiate what the actual intent is.” Spencer pauses for barely enough time to take a breath, rambling in effort to distract from and cover his recent loss of composure, gesturing at the screen where applicable.

Still, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it – he can feel the sharp eyes of his friends and colleagues on him.

He also feels tingling from Maeve standing inordinately close, likely pinning him with her _own_ worried stare.

“What is obvious, given the sequence and relatively short time period in which us latter five discovered the flowers, there has to be more than one person involved – possibly three, or even four.” …And that’s all he has, for now.

Spencer exhales; pulse hammering in his ears, stilling the anxious movement of his leg – trying so hard to calm and centre himself and _not_ hyperventilate.

It’s only working partially, if that.

The silence that follows his tirade is thick and cloying. 

He takes a risk and casts a vague glance around the table. As he suspected, their faces are drawn in near identical looks of unease and/or alarm, but whether that’s a result of what he said or his own behaviour…he can’t tell.

And, just when Spencer starts to think he’s somehow made things worse –

“If the choice of flowers was intentional, then _who_ they were given to was as well. Why the six of you?” Tara breaks the silence.

Spencer looks at her, and finds she is already looking at him.

He may not be as close to her compared with some of the others, but her quiet acceptance and non-judgemental nature despite the nature of their work has always impressed him.

Right now he is immensely grateful for her continuing his line of thought – and not bringing attention to his slightly _off_ manner.

Maybe it will be forgotten.

It takes only one side-glance at Hotch next to him, when Spencer reaches for his coffee and takes a big sip, to quickly nip that hope in the bud.

He fidgets uncomfortably in his chair.

“Well, since only team members – former and present - were targeted, including Blake who was only with us for two years, whatever grievance these people have is probably linked to that time. The bigger question is what triggered this, why now?” Rossi interjects, leaning forward in his chair.

“Right now, it doesn’t seem possible to know the answer to that – there isn’t enough information to work with.” Derek exhales with obvious frustration. “I mean, unless something new has happened recently in relation to a case from when Alex and I were a part of the BAU, I can’t think of why we’re being targeted. Or why _you_ -” Derek looks at Spencer with troubled eyes. “-are being singled out.”

“Neither can I.” Garcia adds, arms tightly crossed; her eyes shining with disquiet.

“As far as I know nothing that has occurred recently in our cases, or private lives, has been related to that time.” JJ flicks anxious eyes in Spencer’s direction, before looking distantly to the side; clearly trying to think.

Spencer visibly tenses.

_Maeve._

There’s nothing to indicate her appearance as his Guiding Spirit is somehow linked to the flowers, but the only thing from back then that pings to him in raw, painful memory, is her.

Spencer can’t stop himself from turning to look behind his chair. Sure enough, there she is, standing close by; arms crossed over her chest, hands cupping elbows, eyes watching him with knowingly.

He swallows the heavy stone in his throat.

One thing Spencer can’t get over is how she looks _exactly_ as she did when she died. Even when he dreamed of her, or imagined her beside him in the days following, she looked different.

_All of them were there._

She wants to say something, Spencer can tell, but perhaps due to the multiple people in the room – she doesn’t.

Spencer breathes in shakily and turns back around, grasping his left wrist far too tightly – the pain grounds him.

“There was too much detail and effort involved for this to be a single taunt.” Hotch speaks for the first time since uttering his name.

Gathering by the apprehension building in the room, they all agree – including Spencer.

Spencer looks at Hotch; greying stubble is forming along his jawline, and his gaze is intent and focused forward. His posture and manner are _achingly_ familiar. Hotch may have quit – but to Spencer, having him here, it really does feel as though he never left.

But perhaps it is simply the fact that not enough time has passed yet for a change to be truly felt.

_He should wear cardigans more often._

Spencer shakes himself.

_And you should stop thinking that._

“Then what do we do in the mean time?” Luke finally asks the question.

“At the moment, not much,” Emily audibly sighs, clearly unhappy. “Garcia will be taking a look at what CCTV footage is available, if we’re lucky there will be something. Otherwise, until the scenes are finished being processed, the results from forensics are in and we – hopefully – have more information, all we can do is wait.”

There are a few more minutes of talking and speculating, but what Emily said is true – right now, all they can do is talk in circles until they have more data.

And so, it is less than five minutes later and everyone is preparing to leave, with the knowledge that not only will they all be informed when there is more to know, but a watch will be placed on each of their residences for the time being as a precaution.

Derek leaves first, intent on taking Savannah and Hank home. The rest follow, Hotch, JJ and Emily are the last to leave – save for Spencer.

He remains behind, after trying his best to seem alright – despite how _not_ alright he really is – when some of the others ask after him.

Fortunately for him they leave him be when he mentions he’ll just be a minute; wanting a moment to think on the case a little more.

But really, he just wants a minute alone to compose himself before leaving the room.

Well, alone as far as they know.

Maeve is of course with him.

He isn’t surprised when the moment the others have left the room, Maeve speaks.

Spencer had been expecting her to.

“Are you alright?” She asks, voice brimming with anxiety.

Spencer sighs and finally stands out of his chair.

For a moment he doesn’t say anything, instead walking around the table – hands deep in his pockets – towards the pictures of deceptively innocent flowers still up on the screen.

He stares at them, scowling.

“I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that question.”

“Do I?” Spencer’s turns to look at her with narrowed eyes. Maeve is standing beside him now, watching him carefully. “Have you ever considered the possibility that talking to someone, about everything you’re struggling with might actually help? At least a little?” Maeve is staring at him with imploring eyes. “And when I say everything, I mean _everything._ ” She emphasizes this by pointing towards where Spencer had been – no, where _Hotch_ had been sitting.

Spencer looks away from her and bites the inside of his cheek so hard he soon tastes the metallic flavour of blood. “For lack of a better metaphor, you can _not_ solve a puzzle without _all_ the pieces, and that is exactly what you’re trying to do here – Yes it hasn’t been long, but I’ve been watching you, and fine, you won’t talk to me. But please, talk to someone or you’re going to _crash_ and I won’t be able to help.”

Suddenly, inexplicably, he feels _angry_.

“ _Why?_ ” Spencer gesticulates with his arms, eyes wide in disbelief as he glowers at Maeve; a fierce spectacle of determination. “What’s the point? It won’t change a thing, not in…in _that_ regard. I can fix at _least_ this-” He waves towards the screen of flowers, their images a glaring taunt to this heated conversation.

“Yes, maybe you can, but then what? You are a smart man Spencer, once this is dealt with you’re going to end up right where you started _before_ this happened, one way or another you _will_ have to deal with the rest eventually.”

“I have been dealing with it, for years and it doesn’t _work!_ ” Spencer practically spits the words.

He thought it had, for a while.

And yet, here he is – as torn and trapped as ever, all because irrational emotions won’t let him go.

“No,” Maeve shakes her head. “You haven’t been dealing with it, you’ve been _ignoring_ it.”

“That _is_ how I deal with it, the only way I can.”

Maeve covers her face with her hands and groans. “That isn’t dealing! Doesn’t where you are now prove that?”

Spencer blinks. “I don’t have choice!”

He knows, logically and rationally he _knows_ he’s doing little more than treading water, but what else can he do?

Maeve holds up her hands. “Spencer, all I’m saying that if there is one person you can trust to unburden yourself to – you need to do it. At the very least it would be a step.”

He shakes his head. “I won’t, I _can’t_.” Spencer begins frantically pacing.

“Spencer, I _swear_ if I were able-”

“ _But you’re not!_ ” He shouts, interrupting whatever she had been about to say, and stops pacing to face her.

The room is void of anything but the sound of his racing heart and agitated breathing.

“You’re not able, because you…you’re _dead_.” Spencer huffs out the last word, voice dry and cracked with sorrow and guilt. He hates the tears building in his eyes, and hates the look of anguish he put on Maeve’s face.

She is very, very quiet.

Spencer gulps and half-collapses against the nearby wall, looking towards the ceiling.

“Which is exactly why what I feel-” Spencer pounds a hard, angry fist against his chest. “-will never leave me. The one time, the _one_ time I allowed myself to – you-” Spencer inhales shakily, and just as quickly as it came – the anger that overcame him fades much like a sinking tide.

All he feels now is exhaustion.

“Spencer…” Maeve murmurs, softly.

He clenches his eyes shut and looks away from her.

“Don’t you see? I have never shared this…with anyone. Not…not even you.” The truth of that statement burns him. Spencer knows that he never gave all of himself to her – because in his heart of hearts he has to admit that…that _Aaron_ , long before, got there first, a fact he ignored as fully as he could – for years.

And now, here he is.

Everything is falling apart.

What good did all that do?

“Saying it, all of it out loud would just…everything would hurt more, would make it harder to - I _can’t_ -” A shame filled sob rips through him, clogging his words. He rests his head in his hands, trying so hard to just _breathe_ and _not_ cry.

_No. No. I won’t do this. Not here, not now. Not in front of Maeve. Not in the middle of the fucking BAU where anyone could walk in at any time._

“Oh Spencer…”

He hears Maeve move as close to him as physically possible, tingles sparkle across the tops of his hands and arms, he knows she’s touching him in the only way she can.

Spencer hears the unshed tears in her voice, and that just makes this mire so much worse.

“Nothing would ever come of it. Nothing.” He pointless spews the muffled words, words he has repeated to himself more times than he can begin to count.

_Stop talking._

“It’s easier to believe that, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Easier than admitting that _all_ your reasons, rational or irrational, all come down to one thing; you’re _afraid_.”

Spencer lets his hands fall and looks at her. Maeve’s eyes are shining with a stark, melancholy beauty as she stares him down, gently yet forcefully.

Not unlike a certain someone.

The thought squeezes his heart.

He doesn’t confirm what she said, but he doesn’t deny it either.

As he looks at her, hopelessly wishing a miracle solution would appear out of nowhere and fix this entire mess, Spencer finds himself uttering something he’s only ever said in the privacy of his own mind - words too vulnerable to say out loud.

And he’s saying them to Maeve. Something he never thought he’d do.

“I…I don’t know what to do.” It’s less in the words, and more in his frightened, childlike tone of voice that is revealing.

Maeve softly tilts her head, and reaches out a delicate hand to hover over his face – it is like his dream and reality are merging together through that tender action.

And it _hurts._

 _All_ of it.

“You’ll figure it out, I know you will. And I’ll help, if you’ll let me.” Maeve smiles at him before letting her hand fall.

“Why?” He whispers.

_I have failed you, in so many ways._

“Because, I love you.” She says with no traces of doubt. “I want you to be happy.”

Spencer’s mouth parts.

_You are still so beautiful to me._

He swallows the lump in his throat.

Their talk – argument, fight, whatever it was – comes to a natural and silent close after that. The two of them remain standing in each other’s orbit, the silence making Spencer again very much aware of the fact that he’s still in the briefing room, and that he was supposed to be going over the photos with a fine comb to see if there’s anything – visually speaking – they missed.

When he stayed behind, it wasn’t Spencer’s goal to have an emotional blowout with his Guiding Spirit.

It wasn’t exactly the time or place for it.

Maeve remains standing by his side, as close as she was before – but now is watching him with a thoughtful look.

The post-soul bearing awkwardness is beginning to kick in, and honestly – if Spencer still wants to go over the photos, he’s certainly stared at them often enough in the past several minutes in order to accurately go over them from memory later. 

He just wants to go – if not home, then at least some place where he can distract himself and recharge his mental and emotional batteries while waiting for the forensic results - anywhere, so long as it’s _not_ this room.

No matter the insanity of the past few minutes, Spencer hasn’t forgotten why he – all of them, were here in the first place.

It seems that everything in his life is destined to intertwine.

Spencer sighs and pushes himself away from the wall.

He goes over to his chair, extracts his balled up jacket tucked into the side and puts it on; buttoning it up all the way.

Then he bends down to pick up his bag.

A corner of black cloth catches his eye.

He frowns and reaches out to grab what turns out to be a coat that had fallen onto the floor. A very familiar coat.

It’s Hotch’s.

Spencer exhales a tiny puff of air, and realizes he’s clenching his fingers in the soft fabric; bare thumbs stroking the material.

Maeve comes up in front of him and flickers a somewhat amused gaze between Spencer and the coat.

He startles so quickly he almost drops it, an embarrassed flush rising to his face.

_Now what?_

“Um…” Maybe Hotch hasn’t left the building yet.

Spencer very pointedly does _not_ look at Maeve or wonder how seeing Hotch, after what just happened between him and Maeve, will probably feel.

Regardless, the guy needs his coat. _Don’t be a coward._

Before Spencer can do anything though, a light knock startles him and Spencer flinches a bit.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

_And of course it’s Hotch._

Spencer resists the urge to loudly curse the universe; _you’re doing this on purpose aren’t you?_

“It’s ok, I didn’t hear you coming.” Spencer looks up at the man; standing in the doorway eyeing Spencer and…the coat.

_Oh god he didn’t see what I was doing did he?_

Choosing to believe Hotch didn’t, for the sake of his sanity if nothing else; he turns to face Hotch and holds out the coat – perhaps a little too eagerly.

If Hotch did notice Spencer practically fondling his coat, he doesn’t say anything nor does he show it.

“Thank-you, I’d gotten to my car before I forgot I left it behind.” Hotch takes it with a grateful nod and smiles in Spencer’s direction.

Spencer just nods casually, not saying a word and awkwardly moving shifting back and forth on his feet as Hotch dons his coat.

At that point Spencer expects Hotch to leave, but he doesn’t – simply stands there, hands in his pockets, looking at Spencer with a deeply lined face and considering eyes.

Spencer tightens his grip on his bag strap.

_Please, just leave._

_Why are you still here?_

_I really need to get out of here. Now._

Spencer coughs and takes a few steps towards the doorway. Without a word, Hotch moves out of the way.

However, before Spencer can leave the room –

“You seem… _off,_ more so than when I last saw you.” Hotch comments when Spencer is about to pass him and walk out the door. Spencer freezes. "Are you alright?”

_Why does everyone keep asking me that?_

_You know very well why._

_It was a rhetorical question._

He tries very hard to project some semblance normality with a small smile when he turns to look at Hotch.

“I’m fine, just been thinking.” The latter is certainly true. Hotch raises an eyebrow. “How is Jack?” It may be a way to distract Hotch from asking again, but Spencer really does want to know.

Spencer hasn’t seen Jack since he came home from the hospital.

“He’s doing well, better than I thought he would be to be honest.” Hotch answers, and even though it is immediately apparent that Hotch is well aware of what Spencer is trying to do, there is genuine relief in his eyes.

This time, his smile is real. “I’m happy to hear that.”

Hotch smiles in kind. “Reid.”

“Yes?”

“Remember to give that brain of yours a rest, ok?” Hotch says this with a pointed look.

“Not if we’re potentially in danger.” Spencer answers without thinking; honestly not all that sure his brain would let him rest regardless. “I need to be ready in case something happens.”

It’s immediately apparent to him that the response is less than stellar in Hotch’s eyes; the man scowls and takes a step closer to Spencer.

Spencer resists the urge to take a step back. _Acting like a nervous love-struck gazelle won’t help._

“The BAU is a team, a family, the weight of this doesn’t rest solely on your shoulders.” Spencer looks away and Hotch takes a deep breath. “The past several months have been difficult enough, and I’ve seen how you often pushed yourself too far past your own limits. I trust you, and I know the others do as well, but you’ll be no good to anyone or yourself if you run out of steam at a crucial moment.”

It strikes Spencer as odd, that out of the two of them – Hotch has more reason than him to be utterly drained by recent events, and yet it is him who is reminding Spencer to take care of himself – in a way still strongly reminiscent of Hotch the Boss.

It doesn’t seem to matter that Hotch isn’t his boss anymore.

Spencer looks at the man in front of him; those intense eyes are of course watching him closely, gauging his reaction. “I know Hotch.”

Spencer blinks quickly and looks away with an awkward cough; the atmosphere is starting to feel claustrophobic, despite the decent sized room.

_I really need to leave. Now._

When he looks at the doorway, Hotch isn’t the only one leaning beside it. Maeve is resting against it as well, eyeing him with a curious and meaningful gaze.

Spencer pointedly ignores them both and tries to leave again.

However, the moment when he is about to brush past the man. Hotch’s voice once again stops him.

“You don’t always have to bear whatever it is that’s weighing on you alone.” The words are so quiet, so _earnest_ , and eerily reminiscent of what Maeve was saying.

His eyes clench shut tightly.

Spencer can’t stand it.

_I can’t stand **any** of this._

There is a double whammy of twisted irony that Hotch, of _all_ people is saying this to him.

For whatever reason, suddenly Spencer _laughs._

However, the laugh is anything but humorous.

“Are you _actually_ being serious right now?” Spencer scoffs. “You are the sovereign leader of he who carries the world on his shoulders – never sharing _your_ weight with anyone but yourself alone. You have no ground to stand on here. _None._ ” He turns fierce eyes on Hotch, and it is only by pure ire that Spencer isn’t immediately horrified by what he just said; hot wetness building behind his eyes.

_You have no right to be so goddamn sincere when I’m entirely broken-hearted over you._

Spencer doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hotch look _this_ totally speechless before; eyes wide with something very much like shock.

He knows he’ll be screaming at himself later and even now Spencer feels something akin to nausea building in his stomach.

_Did I just say that? I can’t believe I just said all that to him!_

_I really am losing it._

Spencer ignores his horrified inner voice and pushes the final blow – it seems even Spencer Reid has his breaking point.

“Leave. Me. _Alone_. Stop; just _stop_ asking me if I’m alright, if I’m ok – if I, god forbid, am not fucking _sleeping_ enough! You are _not_ my boss anymore.” Spencer is definitely shouting now. Somewhere in the back of his mind he notices several heads turning in their direction, and whatever shock Hotch felt as Spencer’s reaction is now gone from his face; shuttered behind a mask of solemn patience.

It makes Spencer really feel like he might truly cry.

_Why aren’t you angry? Please, get angry._

“I’m not _dead_ , that _is_ enough.” Spencer finally bites out.

Spencer is thrown off when suddenly Hotch reaches out and pushes him, perhaps a tad roughly – causing him to stumble, back into the room and closes the door with a loud _click_ behind them – shutting out the looks of curious and concerned onlookers.

_What the hell…_

Spencer’s heart is pounding; eyes popping in surprise, his breath uneven and surprisingly loud in the room.

Hotch is standing in front of the door; facing him with a severe look filled with alarming determination.

If Spencer is afraid, it isn’t of Hotch – it is of his own heart and mind. Now that this conversation, if you can call it that, is completely private, what will Spencer do or say next?

_I can’t trust myself, not now – not when I’m bordering on unhinged in far too many respects._

He should leave, he _needs_ to leave.

Spencer recognizes that Hotch closing the door wasn’t about keeping Spencer in the room, but rather granting them privacy – a fact he is peripherally grateful for, since there is no way people hadn’t noticed his raised and angry voice.

Regardless, if Spencer made a point of leaving, he knows Hotch wouldn’t stop him, but for whatever, stupid reason, Spencer is still too stunned by the abruptness of Hotch’s to do little more than stare in wary disbelief at the man.

“There _are_ worse things than death, Spencer.”

It isn’t the gentle way he says those words, nor is it the way Hotch’s stormy eyes are pinned on him; _demanding_ that Spencer listen to what he’s saying, no – it is the use of his first name, right here, right _now_ , so kindly spoken, that makes Spencer do what he does next.

Spencer lets go of the white-knuckled grip he has on his bag and with absolutely _no_ input from his rational mind he rushes forward and –

Smooth hands on cheeks accented with stubble.

Dry, cracked lips pressing on lips.

_Oh god._

And Spencer is lost.

Only faintly does he notice Hotch stiffen.

There is nothing in this moment but silence.

Until, just as quickly as it happened, Spencer pulls away; the resulting light smack of lips releasing ringing loudly in his ears and he sees –

If he thought Hotch looked stunned before…well, it is nothing compared to how he looks now.

Spencer begins to well and truly _panic_.

_Oh no. Did I just…?_

_I think I’m going to be sick._

Shame floods his body.

“I-I’m so _sorry_ -” Spencer’s voice cracks and he realizes his hands are _still_ on Hotch’s face.

He immediately pulls his hands away as though burned.

_I’m actually going to be sick._

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on Hotch in horror. His hand comes up to cover his mouth as he stumbles backwards on shaky legs; mind a haze of revulsion at his lapse of control.

Hotch is breathing heavily, and Spencer can’t even begin to describe the look on his face.

_He didn’t do anything when I -_

_Oh god, he must hate me._

Spencer feels the edges of his vision go blurry. _No, for fucks sake._ There are tears building in his eyes. _Not this._

“Spencer-”

It is the hoarse sound of Hotch saying his name, and when he looks up; noticing Maeve watching – _the entire thing_ – with wide eyes, that finally spurs Spencer into action.

He _runs._

He knows what Hotch is going to say, and he can’t hear it.

He just…he _can’t._

Spencer is too weak to remain and hear it.

And honestly, he really _does_ feel like he’s going to vomit.

Spencer flings open the door and rushes out; breathing hard, heart twisting with humiliation, feeling sick in his stomach, chest – _everywhere._

If Hotch or Maeve, or _anyone_ , call after him, he either doesn’t hear it or blocks it out.

One minute Spencer is speeding through hallways, and the next he’s locked himself in a bathroom stall and is currently in the process of hyperventilating.

He leans against the clammy, tile wall and finally his trembling legs fail him.

Spencer collapses; landing with a hard thud on the floor.

“ _Please_ , I didn’t just do that, this has to be another nightmare…Wake up. Wake. _Up_.” Spencer bites his lip, hard, and exhales brokenly into his knees; pulled up with his arms wrapped tightly around them; much like a child.

Spencer doesn’t notice Maeve sitting on the floor outside the stall; heart breaking for him as she listens to his labored breathing.

All Spencer is aware of is that he just did a very, _very_ stupid thing.

He kissed _Hotch._

Spencer basically insulted him by angrily throwing the man’s completely understandable concern for Spencer’s own wellbeing in his face, _just_ because Hotch touched a nerve the man didn’t even know existed!

Then, in the most _idiotic_ of moves – Spencer reacted on impulse by _kissing_ him.

And for one, fleeting moment (before cruel reality sunk in) he had felt sweet _relief_.

And he hates himself for it.

Spencer lifts his face away from the crease of his thighs and leans his head back against the bathroom wall; eyes tightly shut against the tears wanting spill.

_Aaron._

He can only hope his stupidity doesn’t end with him losing Hotch altogether.

That would be the only thing worse than living in perpetual love unrequited.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

_“I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real.”_

_~ Oscar Wilde_

 

 

If there is one positive to be had from what Spencer just did, it is that no one on the team saw or heard what happened.

Once Spencer calmed down enough to at least breathe properly, and before he could work himself into a panic _again_ over how they probably saw him running out of there with tears streaming down his face, he realized that the faces he saw – outside the briefing room, in hallways – were only passingly familiar at best.

Lucky for him, it seemed they’d already left.

The only ones privy to what occurred are himself, Maeve and of course, Hotch.

It was a reassurance, even if only a small one, to know he wouldn’t have to explain himself.

Maybe.

Not yet, at least.

It didn’t take long for his mind to realize something else; that Spencer would have to, eventually, _talk_ to Hotch.

It would be unavoidable.

However, so far that hasn’t stopped Spencer from trying.

The very thought of seeing him after…it made Spencer come very close to hyperventilating again.

Perhaps it would’ve been smarter to hightail it _out_ of the building, rather than risk running into Hotch, but at the time, being alone with his thoughts – whether in a sea of strangers, or alone at home – sounded like the worst possible thing.

If Spencer allowed himself even a _second_ of time to obsess over the inevitable cost of his actions, he would break (which at this point seems all but certain, one way or another).

So, after Spencer managed to compose himself – _barely,_ yet somehow managing to create a headspace of _not_ thinking at all – he left the mercifully empty bathroom; mind a haze of white noise.

And subsequently proceeded to make good on the passing thought he had several minutes earlier.

He went to see Garcia, in the “cavern of perpetual knowledge” as she is now calling it, to check on how she was coming along with the CCTV.

She had just pulled it up and was in the process of going through it when Spencer walked in (not before he’d pathetically looked up and down the halls to make sure a certain _someone_ wasn’t there).

Garcia was pleasantly surprised to see him, but it only took a few minutes for Spencer to doubt the wisdom of his coming here.

At least she did him the courtesy of waiting until they were done going through the available footage before confronting him.

At the time Spencer had been too grateful for her tact when he entered the room, no doubt with drying tear tracks on his face (despite his best efforts to make himself look presentable before entering), to question why she wasn’t addressing his somewhat dishevelled appearance – which was uncharacteristic of her.

He should have realized that Garcia was only taking time to carefully form her words.

Spencer can only imagine what she would’ve said had she been witness to _everything._

 

_Spencer was sat beside Garcia in the only free and uncluttered chair in the room; a sweater of an alarmingly bright shade of pink draped across the back._

_She was still in the process of receiving and processing the footage. It hadn’t been that long after all, still, Spencer was both surprised and not that she had gotten access this quickly._

_They were the homes of FBI Agents, and since all of them either had cameras on their door at the very least or lived in a building with its own CCTV it was pretty easy, Garcia said, especially considering the still very recent events in everyone’s mind._

_Additionally, once the situation was explained a request quickly put in for CCTV of Alex’s office to be made available. That would take longer than all the rest._

_What was also taking a little time was attaining the CCTV for the last 24hours from within at least a two block radius of their residences - road intersections, and outside views of nearby business etc, to be thorough. It was still coming in when Spencer first sat down._

_He had good timing actually, since Garcia had been about to pull up the footage from his apartment building._

_As they went through the footage, two things became apparent._

_One; there appeared to be at least three different people delivering the flowers, based on height, build and time of delivery._

_Two; Disguise was heavily involved. Each one of them were completely covered head to toe in common, oversized, nondescript clothes, and even though they took care to avoid camera they were obviously aware of – a few angles suggested they were wearing masks as well. With all that it was difficult, if not impossible, to tell their sex._

_Although Spencer suspected at least one was female. If he was right, she was the one who delivered his flower; having banged loudly on it with her fist before running away – she wasn’t in sight of the cameras in his building for very long, disappearing down an alleyway nearby shortly after leaving._

_The one thing that pinged in his mind as odd was why this person bothered knocking on his door. Why not place the flowers and leave?_

_That difference only led even more credence to the theory that whatever it is that’s going on, Spencer is the focal point._

_Overall, they were quick, efficient and knew exactly what they were doing._

_The amount of time it took for them to go through the hours of footage (even sped up between possible sightings of the perpetrators), even if only an initial cursory look, gave Spencer enough time to feel some semblance of homeostasis again; focusing on and picking a part the images flashing in front of him just distracting enough._

_Oh what happened between him and Hotch was still very much present in his mind; a looming presence ready to overwhelm him at any time._

_The latter emphasized when Garcia pulled up the footage of Hotch’s home._

_Garcia closed it down around the time they saw Hotch exit the house, and the minute Spencer saw him he stiffened; trying very hard **not** to remember._

_He could finish panicking over it all later._

_Spencer had been expecting Garcia to put the next one up on the screen, before remembering that for now there wasn’t any more until the rest had been processed._

_That was also when Garcia, finally said it._

_The click of Garcia’s mouse signalled a moment of silence as the screens before her darkened and she turned in her chair to face Spencer head on._

_“I heard through the BAU vine that you and Hotch had…words.” She spoke slow and careful, obviously gauging his reaction._

_That’s one way to put it._

_Spencer worked very hard on not visibly reacting to her words. He casually covered his clenched left hand with his right and gave her a blank look._

_“Oh?”_

_Garcia frowned at his response. “Are you alright?”_

_She rolled her chair closer to him and rested her hand once on his arm closest to her before pulling away, her eyes remained intent and heartfelt on his face all the while._

_No._

_“Of course.” Spencer shrugged._

_Garcia’s eyes narrowed. “Honey, I meant both of you.”_

_I know._

_Spencer swallowed deeply. “Same, same answer.” He cursed inwardly when his voice broke. “Why wouldn’t we be?” He added, trying to sound confident._

_He looked away; wishing, hoping that what he said was true – but how could it be? How could **they** be? It seemed like a hopeless dream to believe that he and Hotch could be ok after Spencer senselessly kissed him, what he basically yelled at him before they probably could’ve dealt with…but that? _

_Kissing Hotch revealed more than he ever wanted to._

_Spencer was certainly not going to voice all that to Garcia, it would inevitably lead to more questions that he never has any intention of answering._

_When he looked back at Garcia, immediately noticing the sad twist of her mouth, he wondered what had been showing on his face._

_“I haven’t seen you like this for a while.” With her elbow rested on the arm of her chair, Garcia leaned on her fist; eyes still fixed upon him._

_Spencer felt a bit thrown._

_“Sorry?”_

_“You know, unsettled, frazzled, distracted…have you ever seen The Sound of Music?”_

_He blinked, slowly._

_What?_

_“Um…”_

_“Maria realizes she’s in love with Captain Von Trapp, she’s terrified – torn between who she thought she was supposed to be, and who she is. It takes her a while to come to terms with it and take a chance that he just might same way.” Garcia again reached out and gently touched his arm. Spencer twitched. “You remind me of her.”_

_Oh…_

**_Oh._ **

_Spencer inhaled sharply and he felt himself grow tense in response to her words._

_Is she…?_

_No, well – it is Garcia; she might just be…talking._

_It doesn’t that she’s implying –_

_Garcia didn’t say anything more, nor did she seem to expect him to say anything. She patted his arm once more before rolling away back to her previous position; turning the computer back on and doing…something._

_Spencer didn’t really notice, he was too busy wondering why everyone just suddenly seemed to know…something, or at least suspect._

_I can’t be **that** obvious._

_Or maybe I’m just living in a delusion that I’m not._

_“Hotch looked good in that green sweater.” Garcia posited after a silent minute._

_“Yes.” Spencer muttered without thinking, and promptly wanted to hit himself._

_What was it you were saying about not being obvious?_

_He sensed she was about to say something, but he quickly interrupted her before she could._

_“Don’t.” Spencer said through gritted teeth, deliberately not looking at her. Is nowhere safe? “This is something I have to deal with, **me.** ”  On top of everything else, including Maeve, whom Spencer hadn’t seen since he ran away from her and Hotch. He had wondered where she was, and why she sometimes seemed to disappear from him, but this time Spencer felt she was close by even if he couldn’t see her. “I’ve had years of practice.”_

_Spencer froze._

_He hadn’t meant to say that last part._

_And sure enough –_

_“Oh, Spencer, I didn’t realize-” Garcia started to say, voice drenched with sympathy._

_“I need to go talk with Emily.” He interjected quickly before standing up and away from the chair. He replaced his coat and bag upon his person, and quickly made his exit before Garcia could say another word._

And that is where Spencer is now; leaning against the wall around the corner from Garcia’s office, trying and failing once again to _not_ think about anything.

Hotch.

Garcia.

Maeve.

_Anyone._

He’s barely holding it together as it is.

Spencer has been standing here for the past five minutes at least; deliberately slowing his breathing.

_Maybe I actually should talk with Emily, let her know about -_

Spencer groans at the wave of tiredness that washes over him.

_Nope. More coffee first._

“Ignore everything, just ignore everything else.” Spencer mutters to himself, _if only it were that easy._

He pushes away from the wall, adjusting the strap on his bag and walks around the corner back in the direction of the main room; where the coffee station is.

“ _Oof!_ ” Spencer wheezes in surprise when he, due to his poor ability of actually _watching_ where he’s going, immediately collides rather firmly with a solid, remarkably sturdy body. “Sorry-”

Spencer looks up and instantly stumbles backwards; his heart gives an agonizing lurch and his throat shrivels.

“Hey, it’s fine. You alright?”

_Oh god._

_Why are you still here?_

“Um…” Spencer gulps.

Of course the universal laws of probability would fail him.

Of _all_ people, Spencer would run (literally) into _Hotch_ – because he hasn’t humiliated himself, and in all likelihood ruined his friendship, with the man enough as it is.

Spencer knows he will have to confront this eventually and accept the consequences, whether by choice (ha) or _Hotch_ approaching him, but not now.

_It’s too soon._

_Why haven’t you left yet?_

Hotch looked just as surprised by their abrupt impact, but his widened eyes had quickly relaxed and if Spencer didn’t know better, he would say Hotch now looks almost _relieved._ But that doesn’t make sense.

_Why would he be relieved?_

_Shouldn’t he looking at with – at best – pity?_

_And why, am I not getting the fuck out of here?_

“I was looking for you.”

_Shit._

Spencer does _not_ whimper.

But he does feel his anxiety increase by multiple degrees and frantically looks around for an excuse – anything – to escape before Hotch can…

Spencer swallows against the nausea reasserting itself.

It is then he notices Maeve standing not too far away, behind Hotch oddly enough.

 _That_ finally pushes Spencer out of his pseudo trance.

“Right, well-” He keeps his gaze away from Hotch and rubs the back of his neck with affected nonchalance – which Spencer is positive can’t be coming off as anything but nervous apprehension. “I need to go and, talk to Emily. Talk later?” Spencer is proud of himself for sounding almost normal if not entirely convincing.

However, when he tries to give Hotch a wide berth and get the _hell away_ from the situation – Spencer is effectively stopped by him, not physically, but by that deep, grave tone of voice.

“Spencer.”

He stops mid-step with his eyes clenched tightly shut against Hotch unmoving beside him, Maeve observing from afar, and the otherwise empty hall that is somehow filled with enough tension to drown in.

That one word, his _name_ – which caused this, is spoken not by Hotch as a scold for Spencer’s attempt to flee, no, but as an implicit _request_.

_“Don’t go. I have something I need to say.”_

Spencer stiffens and forces himself to take a deep breath.

Might as well rip the band aid off now right?

“I’m sorry.” Spencer whispers, firmly keeping his eyes closed. He doesn’t need all his senses to bear witness to this.

“Spencer, you don’t-”

“I’m _sorry_.” Spencer repeats, louder.

_He needs to know how sorry I am. That it won’t happen again._

_Please, please, just don’t cut me out,_ Spencer whimpers pitifully in his head.

Hotch sighs. “You were right. About me.”

Spencer’s eyes flash open in surprise and feeling quite bemused, he turns his head to face Hotch.

The man is already looking directly at him with intent, unreadable eyes.

“I can’t very dole out advice and expect others to listen when I myself am often hypocritical of my own words.” Hotch turns his entire body to face Spencer head on. Spencer inhales sharply; too stunned to say or anything.

“I apologize if I have overstepped my bounds.”

Spencer’s jaw drops in disbelief.

_What?_

“Excuse me?”

**_He_ ** _, overstep **his** bounds? _

There is no hesitation; no obvious sign of repulsion that Spencer can see, Hotch is in his orbit, utterly unafraid and steadfastly meeting his eyes.

Apologizing. To _him._

Spencer can’t believe it, and yet - Hotch obviously means what he’s saying, no matter that Spencer doesn’t see where Hotch came up with the idea that apologizing to _him_ was warranted.

Spencer certainly didn’t expect it.

If anyone is guilty of overstepping bounds it is himself, _not_ Hotch.

Yes, a part of Spencer meant what he said before, however the way he went about saying it was incredibly unfair and inappropriate. He knows Hotch only meant well.

“You’re right, I’m not your boss,” Hotch continues in response, for the first time Spencer notices a flash of unease – but it is quickly shuttered away behind Hotch’s resolute control. He takes a deep breath, and Spencer feels his heartrate increase several notches when Hotch takes a step forward. “But I hope, that I _am_ your friend.”

_Oh…_

Spencer curses the loud thumping of his heart and the heat building in his face and eyes.

_Is this happening?_

_It is. It’s really happening._

“Yes,” Spencer gulps, doubt warring with the sheer _relief_ awash in his heart. “Of course you are.”

Hotch quirks a small smile.

Spencer can’t believe it.

Hotch…Hotch is letting it go?

Without _saying_ anything?

_There must be a catch. It can’t be this simple._

But no, Hotch doesn’t appear to be angry in any shape way or form. He is standing before Spencer, quiet and genuine. No trace of deception or pity anywhere.

Regardless, Spencer isn’t fooling himself. Hotch is an incredibly layered man, and can be very good at hiding or disguising his emotions when necessary.

The fact that Hotch is basically pretending _nothing_ happened after Spencer chastised him quite harshly is evidence enough of that. Because there is no way Hotch wouldn’t have an opinion of Spencer kissing him.

He’s simply choosing not to express it.

This in normal circumstances wouldn’t exactly bode well for someone hoping for their love to be returned. However, Spencer long ago negated that as a possibility, and the past hour or so (however long it’s been) had seen him coming up with the worst possibilities; Hotch telling him their friendship was over, Hotch letting him down easy, Hotch letting him down hard, or Hotch even reporting him for assault or something along those lines.

Nowhere in Spencer’s mind was there a hope that Hotch would ignore it altogether.

Honestly, after working himself sick over this – Spencer isn’t willing to drive himself ‘round the bend working out Hotch’s reasoning, or even true feelings, on the matter.

It feels too much like looking a gift horse in the mouth.

And it is more than Spencer could’ve hoped for.

He’s still mortified of course, and definitely humiliated.

And something else Spencer can’t name right now or he really will erupt in shameful tears again and probably undue his good fortune.

_Yes, I long ago negated the possibility; yes in comparison to the other potential responses I am relieved he’s letting this go without a word._

_That he **still** wants to be my friend._

_So why is there a part of me that feels…resigned, hollow?_

Spence exhales shakily and, finally, looks away; a frown marring his features.

“Um…right, well,” Spencer hesitates, because now what do they do? Continue standing here awkwardly? A few minutes ago Spencer was ready to once again to get the hell away from here, but now he just…doesn’t know what to do.

“I need to be going.” Hotch interjects, still not moving. “I’ve got Jack, and I’m sure you guys will let me know when there are any developments. You do seem to be a central figure in this, so…be careful, alright? Please?”

Right. The flowers.

Spencer nearly forgot for a moment there.

Hotch uttered that last part quietly, with more of a questioning lilt than Hotch would’ve used _before_ their recent discussion, like he’s not sure if Spencer is presently welcoming of concern.

 _That_ makes Spencer feel horribly guilty.

Spencer quickly nods. “Of course, I will.” And he means it.

Hotch looks relieved at his answer.

The sounds of their breathing, and distant noises of the working life in the building are the only noises filling their unmoving silence.

However, movement from behind Hotch catches his eye. Spencer glances across the hall and sees Maeve. She meets his eyes with an emphatic, knowing gaze as she motions from Spencer to Hotch and back, before crossing her arms over her chest – her heart, and looking at Spencer; imploring.

_She…wants me say something?_

He bites the inside of his cheek and the ache in his heart increases.

_She knows. She knows and she cares so much. Why?_

Spencer subtly shakes his head, and tries to forget the way her face falls when he looks away.

“Alright then, talk to you later, Spencer.” The sound of Hotch’s voice brings Spencer’s attention back to him.

He lifts up his hand as though reaching out, like he would to pat or clasp Spencer shoulder – but he quickly stops mid-motion and pulls it off as casually adjusting his jacket.

Spencer notices, and tries to ignore doubt beginning to build in his gut.

Yes, Hotch still thinks of himself as Spencer’s friend – but that one little motion, that one moment of hesitation on Hotch’s part where before there would have been none, makes Spencer wonder if his relief was felt too soon.

If maybe moving past his indiscretion won’t be as easy as it seems on the surface.

“Take care of yourself.” Hotch nods with a small smile; barely noticeable, but it is there and it makes Spencer feel both a little bit better, and a little bit worse.

And then Hotch walks away.

To his retreating back, Spencer mutters on a shaky exhale. “You too, Aaron.”

_You make not loving you feel impossible._

Spencer has been asking himself _‘why’_ about way too many things lately. He can’t remember a time when he’s been this devoid of answers.

“Even after what I did, you still care…like I _matter_ to you.” Spencer murmurs under breath.

Honestly, he’s not sure whether he should be surprised or not.

“I remember you telling me about him, and not just recently.”  Maeve expresses as she walks over to stand his side.

At this point, Spencer is almost getting used to the feeling of Maeve seeming to appear out of nowhere and breaking through his more pensive moments.

As such, he isn’t all that surprised when she speaks.

With the way circumstances forced them to communicate subversively all those years ago, they seldom had opportunity to talk for long periods – there was never enough time.

Even so, she is right. The subject of his work, and the people he cares for – while he never went into too much detail, were things that came up on occasion.

Including Hotch.

“What does that have to do with… _this?_ ” Spencer gestures around himself with a slight frown in her direction. _And why were you following him earlier_? Spencer doesn’t ask.

Inside, he aches with the horrible tragedies he has witnessed Hotch experience over the years, the kind of agony that never fully heals.

Spencer has his own enduring scars. The proof is in the spirit of the woman he once loved more than anything, presently resolute at his side.

No one deserves that kind of pain; it just…feels especially cruel that Hotch and Jack have had to feel it.

Spencer would’ve gladly given up anything to have been in possession of a miracle that would’ve saved Haley.

And if the laws of life, death and spirits were different, Spencer knows if he were given the opportunity to bring her back. He would without a second thought.

His own heartbreak matters little in the face of Jack not having his mother, and no matter their broken relationship at the time of her death – he knows Hotch loved her dearly.

 _There are some pains that cannot be fixed_.

Not for the first time, as he looks at Maeve – Spencer wishes he could’ve held her, just once.

He gulps and feels his eyes water.

“Everything,” Maeve continues over Spencer’s thoughts. Her grey eyes stare at him unblinking, demanding he not look away. “Could be that what happened recently with Jack reminded him of what was important.” Maeve shrugs; the gesture at odds with the way she is pinning him to the spot with her firm, yet compassionate stare.

_Maybe. Probably, but…_

Spencer shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and his eyes flicker away to glare at the floor.

The question is on the tip of his tongue, he isn’t sure whether he should ask it or not – or even why he _wants_ to, Maeve is…how is she going to know?

“I know we’re like a family.” And they are, all of them, they really are – if what just happened with Hotch _hadn’t_ proved that to Spencer, nothing would. His mother would always be family, but them…the team, they’re _his_ family. The one he chose. “But I don’t see Hotch being this…diligent with his concern towards anyone else, _why?_ ”

If there is one thing Spencer is genuinely confused about in all this, it is that. It’s not like Spencer is the _only_ one with poor coping skills that in the past have not always ended well for him.

“I think…only he can answer that.”

_I guess so._

He takes a deep breath, tears his eyes away from the floor and looks toward Maeve again.

Spencer remembers how her face pled with him while he talked with Hotch, how she has been so compassionate and tolerant of his self-indulgent wallowing, and how despite the fact that this really has got to be as hard for her, if not more so, as it is for him – she _keeps_ trying to help.

Maybe, just maybe, he should consider letting her.

Spencer sighs.

“Thank-you.”

Maeve’s mouth parts with a soft, vaguely laughing exhale, eyes bright and shining.

“You’re welcome.” She nods with quirked lips.

He had imagined her face beautiful with a small and amused smile, a thing he used to hear so often in her voice.

Spencer is suddenly hit with the truth that it was only ever in dreams, imagination and death that he ever saw it.

Not life.

It is another reminder why Spencer can’t fulfil the love he feels, even if it were an option.

He opens his lips to speak, but at the last minute changes his mind and with a quick shake of his head – brushing off the turn his mind had started to take - he finally, walks away.

Maeve, of course, walks alongside him.

 

Gathering by his closed-off expression, Maeve can see that Spencer’s mind just went somewhere very dark. While she doesn’t know what the end result of all this will be, she does know if Spencer doesn’t somehow find a way to change his course he’ll end up becoming even more lost than he is now.

What Maeve is fairly certain of is that Spencer doesn’t comprehend that there may just be more avenues open to him than he seems to believe/

In her mind, she reflects on those moments after Spencer left the BAU briefing room.

 

_She wanted to follow him. She **ached** to follow him, but something held her back._

_Maeve could hardly believe what she just witnessed._

_And yet – she also could._

_There are some things that don’t need time to figure out._

_Maeve watched him break, and yet she could do nothing about it._

_She had been torn between leaving, giving Spencer privacy, or remaining as support if he needed her – Maeve just wasn’t sure in that situation how welcome her support would’ve been._

_Judging by how he ignored her when she tried calling out to him after he sped out of here, not welcome **at all.**_

_In the end she was not overly surprised when Spencer rushed forward and kissed Aaron._

_Maeve could hardly differentiate her emotions in that moment. It was…difficult, for many reasons, to see, but more than anything, Maeve found she was sad. Not for herself, but for him – for them both._

_She saw, how for a brief moment Spencer was…it was like releasing a breath he’d been holding in for years._

_As for Aaron, Maeve honestly wasn’t sure. She suspected he was probably too shocked at the moment to feel or do much of anything._

_However, she did notice something Spencer didn’t. Aaron’s hands had twitched and quickly stilled themselves, what she didn’t know was if the movement was because he wanted to push Spencer away – or something else._

_Maeve had remained unmoving in the doorway, watching Spencer disappear through the room outside and down a hallway far to the left; several heads turned in his direction._

_A sudden thud from behind her made her flinch. When Maeve turned around, she was immediately drawn to Aaron._

_He was leaning over the table; one hand cupping his face facing downward, and the other balled up in a fist on the table. Maeve surmised he had probably hit it._

_And sure enough, right when she thought that, Aaron hit it again._

_A quiet, yet no less frustrated groan broke the room’s silence._

_Maeve, concerned and curious, moved back into the room and over closer to the man brimming with some unknowable emotion._

_She heard him muttering under his breath._

_“Why?” Over and over again._

_Maeve tilted her head with a frown._

_She couldn’t exactly say for sure what he was referring to, there were many things it could’ve been, but if there was one thing Aaron’s state was proved to her – it was that whatever he was feeling as a result of Spencer’s inadvertent kiss, he wasn’t **unfeeling** about it._

_When he straightened to standing, unknowingly facing Maeve, she could see something raw being shuttered behind a front he had undoubtedly perfected over the years as a result of his job._

_And then, Aaron had tentatively raised a hand to his mouth; touching his lips once before his hand fell._

_Maeve watched as he left the room, a lot more subdued than Spencer had. Maeve found herself following him with careful steps, but she stopped herself when he entered an office not far away. She saw the outline of a man – vaguely familiar to her - sitting behind a desk before the door closed softly behind Aaron._

_She could’ve gone into the room, but it didn’t feel like the right thing to do._

_She stopped outside the door, thinking._

_Maeve knew she was here for Spencer, but, in some ways it was starting to seem like she was her for Aaron as well – at least, in relation to Spencer._

_“Oh…” Maeve inhaled sharply. It was in that moment, when finally, she understood. “I know why I’m here.”_

_After that, Maeve found it easy to find Spencer. When she dissolved away and rematerialized inside a bathroom, immediately she heard Spencer’s familiar, muffled voice barely holding back gasping sobs._

_It broke her heart. And even though she wanted nothing more than to go in there, Maeve knew it would make Spencer feel worse if he saw her at that moment._

_So, she sat down on the floor, outside the stall where Spencer had encased himself._

_Maeve could feel there was more to be done, but at least she now knew where to start._

 

That last wasn’t much of a comfort when she was sitting there, hearing Spencer suffering from barely a few feet away. Because the truth is, even if she knows her purpose – there is a big difference between knowing and _doing_.

Maeve only hopes that she doesn’t make things irrevocably worse in the process.

In this situation, treading carefully will be essential.

One step at a time.

 

~

 

She loads a revolver, relishing each and every click the gun made.

Once she finishes, she empties the gun of its bullets and begins the process all over again.

Again, again and again.

She is preparing herself.

Her heart an empty mass where there once was her beautiful beauty.

“Soon, soon…” She murmurs softly to the cold weapon lying innocently on the table in front of her.

A face, his face, flashes angrily in front of her.

Her nimble fingers move faster, fuming as she goes through the process of loading and unloading the gun.

_I need to be ready._

_I’m almost ready._

“Soon, love. Soon.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

_“Rejoice with glitters of ashes tonight_

_Sparkling for moon's spiced silver bite_

_Upon skin of darkness, loving night more_

_Storm begins unlocking cold wind's door”_

_~ Munia Khan_

 

 

 

_Spencer dreams of raining flowers; yellow mixed with pale ivory and deep burgundy. He dreams of their voices, echoing around in shadows, the people he loves, lips a gentle pressure against his…_

Spencer slowly comes to with blinking, sluggish eyes.

Sunlight, far too bright, illuminates his face; morning.

He groans. “Damn it.” _I didn’t mean to fall asleep._

Currently he is lying awkwardly on the sofa in his living room, where he had been situated for hours before unexpectedly nodding off.

Spencer pushes himself to sitting; immediately resting his head in his hands, trying to dispel the remaining vestiges of sleep. The sleeves of his grey robe pool around his elbows, beneath it he wears contrasting bright orange pyjamas – the only clean pair left.

Laundry hasn’t exactly been a priority the past several days.

For the most part Spencer has sequestered himself in his apartment, going over printed photographs of the flowers he was able to obtain (which lay scattered across the coffee table in front of him), perhaps bordering on obsessive – looking for anything they may have missed, that maybe he overlooked.

Because their hope, perhaps foolish, that they would quickly find something revealing enough to indicate who did this, and what their intentions may be and exactly how serious this whole thing is…well, by the end of the first day it was indeed confirmed to be a foolish hope.

Even with the footage Garcia recovered, there was nothing concrete to go on. It was able to confirm that there was indeed more than person involved here, but that wasn’t anything they weren’t already fairly sure of. They didn’t appear to use a car, so there wasn’t a licence plate to trace, and even after spending hours combing the footage, with the help of fellow analysts, Garcia could find _nothing_ to identify who they saw on the CCTV.

Essentially, it was a dead end.

The couple of days following weren’t truly any better.

The substance on the notes was confirmed to be blood; however there was nothing unique or easily identifiable about it. And even though the smearing pattern indicated the use of a finger, it was _too_ smeared for a viable print to be lifted.

Hence, another dead end.

DNA will take a little longer to get back, until then – there truly was nothing to be done.

No choice but to wait until this either turned out to be a prank despite the evidence indicating otherwise, or something else happened. In the meantime watches were placed on each of their residences, and the hotel Alex is staying at near Quantico, just to be safe. In addition Alex’s husband is being watched back in Boston, for the sake of being thorough - no one wants a repeat of what happened with Jack.

Spencer hates it, hates being forced to what feels like a very literal standstill.

Which explains why, almost a week later - he’s still repeatedly going over not just the photographs of the flowers, but screenshots of the people taken from the CCTV footage, looking for _anything_ – even at the expense of his own, unfortunately depleted, hygiene (Spencer is well on his way to sporting a beard at this point).

Throughout all that, there is only one new thing Spencer has noticed. It wasn’t easily visible in the actual footage, but when Spencer used a magnifying glass on the high resolution screenshot of the woman who dropped the flower off at his place, he saw something. A sliver of her neck was exposed; the rest appeared to be thickly covered by some sort of scarf. On her skin there appeared to be a bean shaped birthmark, or scar of some kind, maybe? It was an unusual shape, but the extreme level of disguise and poor angle, it was impossible to tell much more than that.

Spencer has put that observation away in the back of his mind for later; it could prove useful in identifying her, these people, in the (hopefully) near future.

However, it isn’t something that does them any good now.

In the back of his mind, Spencer knows there is more behind this obsessive motivation than worry, although that is certainly a significant part.

Spending his days doing little more than drinking coffee (which he finally bought a hearty supply of) and peering over the same photos and information over, and _over_ again, has been a surprisingly effective, at times mind-numbing distraction from…other things.

Other things which his dreams are keen to remind him of each time he has lapsed into sleep – often against his will.

_Aaron._

_Maeve._

_Flowers._

_Blood._

_That kiss, **the** kiss…_

Spencer feels like he’s living in a perpetual state of mental Groundhog Day, in all respects, reliving and remembering everything on _torturous_ repeat, _also_ against his will.

Everything feels more out of his control than it ever was before.

Spencer exhales a frustrated sigh and roughly rubs his face with his hands.

Following Hotch’s apparent lead by ignoring what happened, or truthfully, on Spencer’s part pretending it _didn’t_ happen – has not been working.

In one way or another, whenever Spencer’s body sleeps his mind plagues him with that moment over and over.

And even though the resultant conversation with Hotch turned out…better than Spencer had been worrying himself sick (literally) over, it felt like both everything and nothing was resolved with it.

So yes, Spencer Reid is frustrated – to put it mildly.

At least the “case” has given Spencer a mostly reasonable explanation for avoiding any and all conversation unrelated to it; no one has come barging on his door at least.

_I wonder how long that will last._

In fact, the last conversation Spencer had with anyone that wasn’t primarily about their “case” was with Alex, when she arrived at the BAU the following morning.

 

_Spencer was here to pick up printed photographs of both the flowers and screenshots from the CCTV footage._

_Emily, Garcia and Rossi were the only team members present in the building at the time._

_And so far Spencer had been successful in avoiding Garcia, not exactly willingly to risk her continuing where she left off yesterday._

_Spencer got someone else to print out the photos for him. He felt bad, it wasn’t her fault Spencer was barely holding himself together, and he loves Garcia for her tenacity and insightfulness – even when he’s at the end of that last one._

_It didn’t mean Spencer wasn’t going to do everything he could to avoid at that moment._

_Spencer had just put the photos, fresh off the printer, into a folder and in his bag when he heard a commotion from down the hall._

_Curious despite himself, Spencer followed the sudden influx of voices to BAU central._

_Maeve, who had of course been with him, followed._

_When he came into view and saw Rossi, along with Emily talking to a dark-haired woman he would recognize anywhere, even with her back facing him._

_Alex._

_“I remember her.” Maeve murmured quietly._

_Spencer inhaled shakily, yeah._

_She was **there.**_

_Even with that reminder fresh in his head, Spencer did smile and hadn’t hesitated to enter the room._

_It had been several months since he last saw her, **before** the multiple serial killers escaped._

_And at that moment Spencer felt especially grateful to see her._

_Rossi was the first to notice him when he walked in, then Emily both nodded with smiles on their faces._

_That was when Alex turned to see who they were looking at._

_She looked very much the same, perhaps there were one or two more wrinkles; her hair was pulled into a bun and she wore a lilac sweater overlaid with a dark, grey suit jacket, and pants to match._

_And her face lit up when she saw him._

_“Spencer!” Alex smiled widely and strode towards him. It was hard not to return it, even with his state of mind, and by reflex his arms opened to greet her as she threw her own around Spencer in a tight, motherly hug._

_A very, **very** tight hug._

_It wasn’t until she was this close to him that Spencer felt tension in body drain away as she held him._

_Spencer knew what she was going to say before she said it._

_“Prentiss and Rossi caught me up.” She whispered in his ear. “It’s good to see you, I’ve missed you.” Alex emphasized this with a motherly pat to his head as she pulled back, though she kept one hand on him._

_Spencer noticed the aforementioned Emily and Rossi backing away, giving them a moment._

_Her eyes were bright with worry, despite the fact that Spencer could tell she was trying to hide it._

_He sighed._

_“You too.” Spencer meant it. “How have you been? How’s James?”_

_“Oh he’s fine, so am I.” Alex waved off the question, but gathering by the sparkle in her eye Spencer could see, despite how much she obviously missed them, she was happy._

_It was reassuring to see._

_“Actually,” Alex continued, Spencer immediately caught onto the change in tone. “We’re officially in the process of adopting, a little two year old girl named Toni.”_

_“That’s great!” Spencer smiled and gave her another hug; very happy for her. If there was ever a woman meant to be a mother, it was Alex. And it broke Spencer’s heart a little whenever he remembered how she lost her little boy._

_A part of Spencer couldn’t but wonder if adopting a girl was deliberate on their part because of that._

_She laughed happily and hugged him back._

_“Thank-you, we’re very happy.” Alex gave him a final pat on the back and they pulled a part. “I hope you’ll come to visit soon, so you can meet her.”_

_He didn’t even have to think._

_Spencer nodded. “Of course.”_

_The moment petered out after that, and the joy on Alex’s face fade into something a little more apprehensive as she looked at Spencer._

_It pierced the bubble Spencer had briefly been lost in and he shifted uncomfortably._

_“You seem…different.” She observed with slightly narrowed eyes._

_He shrugged, not denying – but not encouraging either._

_“A lot has been going on.” Spencer simply said._

_Alex nodded. “I know. How have **you** been?”_

_Alex never had to say much to say a lot. Her questions and request for explanations was there in her pointed, undemanding silence._

_Spencer looked away and noticed that Maeve was casually walking around the fringes of the room; face drawn in deep thought, carefully observing the various items and people._

_For a moment, Spencer almost considered telling her._

_She was the only one he shared his fears and insecurities with during his relationship with Maeve, sharing with her was easy – Alex gently encouraged him, reassured him of his own worth. At the time, it meant everything._

_Regardless, Spencer quickly discarded the notion of telling her._

_In a way – all of that made him even more resistant to telling her._

_Spencer looked back at Alex, and found her watching him with a curiously raised brow._

_He worked hard to not show any visible reaction to the tender, if piercing look._

_How am I? I’ve got the very literal ghost of the woman I loved following me around, while the man I have loved for years haunts me heart and mind in a way he hasn’t for a long time. I’m just peachy._

_Spencer of course didn’t say that out loud._

_“I’m alright.” He shrugged with an attempt at a reassuring smile._

_Alex frowned, clearly not believing him._

_Still, she didn’t contradict the obvious lie and reached out to lightly pat him on the cheek._

_“You have my number; of course I’m sure we’ll be conferring about this business with the flowers. But feel to call me anytime, about **anything.** ” Alex emphasized the last with a final pat to his cheek before her hand fell away._

_Hotch told him he didn’t have to carry his burdens alone._

_It was true, but how could he? When the very idea of sharing them fills him with dread._

_Spencer nodded. “Sure.” A curdle of guilt twisted in his belly at the lie._

_After that, the two had parted – Alex to make herself aware of the rest of the info the others had yet to share, of which there honestly wasn’t much, and Spencer left to go home._

_While he was in the elevator, Maeve made an interesting – and accurate – observation._

_“My mother looked at me like that.” She noted with a curious glance towards him._

_There was nothing accusatory in that statement, it was simply matter-of-fact. Still, Spencer had to contain his wince._

_“She had a son, Ethan, I remind her of him.” Spencer stated, somewhat subdued._

_“Oh.” That one word was filled with sadness at the implication of what Spencer said._

_The rest of the elevator trip was ridden in silence._

If there is something else the past few days of shown Spencer, it is that the reality of Maeve being around near constantly is getting both easier and harder to deal with as time goes on.

Easier, in that he is almost getting used to seeing her every day.

And harder, for the same reason.

At the thought, Spencer sits up properly; leaning against the couch and looks around after rubbing away sleep from his eyes.

Maeve is standing at the window, peering out through the crack in the curtains, back to him.

_It feels dangerous…getting used to you being here._

Spencer’s stomach twists.

Ever since the “discussion” between Hotch and himself, Maeve has been especially quiet. Spencer wouldn’t quite call it downcast per se, but she has been withdrawn. If Spencer couldn’t feel her presence, there have been times when he could’ve almost forgotten she was there.

He had at one point considered the possibility if it had something to do with how she had obviously been following Hotch that day, which did seem odd to him, but Spencer couldn’t figure out how that would relate.

For the most part she was simply there. A few times Spencer caught her watching him something akin to uncertainty, additionally there were times when Spencer swore she had been about to say something, but changed her mind at the last moment.

Maeve clearly had something on her mind, but he didn’t know what.

Spencer supposes he could ask, yet for some reason he hasn’t.

Something is stopping him.

The truth is he doesn’t actually know if this is unusual behaviour for her.

He never got the chance to truly _know_ her in person.

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t said anything, because every time he thinks about it too much – he always ends up _there._

_And **here,** hurts enough already._

Spencer rubs a hand across his chest when he feels his heart ache while trying to shake himself of the direction of his thoughts.

He sighs, and a loud yawn escapes him.

Spencer notices the sound causes Maeve to jump a little in surprise and she turns to face him with crossed arms and a slight smile.

“Good morning.”

“You too.” He says on the tail end of another yawn.

He looks at her, and has the passing thought what it’s for her when he’s asleep. Does she just…stand around with nothing to do and no one to talk to?

Not that Spencer has been overly talkative with her.

He is starting to development some guilt for that.

_I’m sorry._

_Say it out loud coward._

Spencer stands up and slides out from between the table and the couch in direction of the kitchen.

_Coffee._

“You really do live and breathe coffee, don’t you?” Maeve asks a few minutes later, when the smell of brewing coffee begins to waft out from the kitchen.

Spencer is basically staring at the pot, willing it to brew faster.

“Yup.” He says as it – _finally_ – finishes and pulls it out to pour his first cup.

He hears Maeve giggle from the living room.

And Spencer feels his lips curl.

_Only two people have ever made me feel this kind of…lightness when hearing them laugh._

_Maeve is one of them._

And the other – Spencer’s hand trembles and he accidently knocks the pot against the side of his mug.

_Stop it. Get a hold of yourself._

The eerie domesticity of the whole thing is soured a little, but he feels new energy fill his being when he takes that relieving first sip after fixing it to his own specifications; exhaling in relief.

“Alright, back to work.” _Whatever good that’s doing me._

Spencer is about to sit back down when his phone starts to ring.

It’s JJ.

 _Why is she calling?_ Spencer feels a kernel of worry form.

He sits, puts his coffee down and quickly picks up the phone.

“Hello?” Spencer tentatively greets.

“Hey Spence!” Relief floods him as he registers the happy, if tired, tone of her voice. “I’m wondering if you’d be up to coming over today. Henry has been asking after you, and he was just now mentioned something about you promising to teach him origami?” She says with fond amusement.

Before he’d registered the rest of her query, Spencer’s first instinct was to decline – however, when JJ mentioned Henry Spencer cursed inwardly and ran an agitated hand through his hair.

It was weeks ago, but yes, Spencer had promised he would teach Henry origami – after his class did an art class on it, and Henry was convince he did horribly, but Spencer maintains he was quite good based on what he saw. Of course, Henry denied this, and so Spencer ended up promising to teach him at a later date.

And of course, more recently Spencer had promised (after the debacle that was the dinner at Derek and Savannahs home) he would come over and see Henry sometime this week – and the week was almost over and Spencer had _completely_ forgotten.

“Shit.” Spencer cursed out loud.

_I’m a horrible person. Didn’t I promise myself I wouldn’t neglect my godson because of my own problems?_

“What? Spencer?”

JJ’s voice in his ear shocked him out of his spiral.

_Right. I’m on the phone._

He looks at the photos scattered before him.

Of course, at this point Spencer knows his answer.

“Of course. Tell Henry I’ll be over soon.” Making his godson happy is worth any discomfort he’ll feel being under the knowing eyes of JJ.

Regardless, they _are_ his family; Henry, JJ, Michael and even Will.

Even with Maeve and everything else, there many prospects worse than spending a day with them.

Maybe getting away from stagnation of his apartment for a few hours will bring him fresh perspective.

Spencer hears JJ sigh in relief.

“ _Thank-you_ Spencer, sorry I have to go, Michael is running around with my shoes on his hands, see you soon!”

Spencer can’t help but a smile at both the happiness in her voice and the image of little two year old Michael.

“I’ll be there.”

He hears the echoing sounds of a laughing child and an irritated, but amused despite herself JJ, before Spencer is listening to only the dial tone.

Spencer chuckles a little and hangs up.

He puts the phone down, picks up his coffee and once again stands up.

Maeve is still standing by the window, and when Spencer looks at her she is watching him with questioning look.

“I’m going over to JJ’s, apparently to fulfil an origami teaching promise to my godson.” Spencer explains.

“Ah.” Maeve smiles fondly.

Spencer shrugs, but he flushes at the way she watches him with warm eyes.

“Anyway, so, yeah, I’ll be heading out in a minute.”

Maeve nods. “Alright.”

He doesn’t know _why_ he’s telling her; obviously she knows, and she will be automatically tagging along.

Spencer coughs awkwardly and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Right.”

He quickly finishes his coffee, and then via text lets the police officer on watching outside the apartment building that he’ll be heading out shortly.

With that out of the way, Spencer starts getting ready.

About 20 minutes later; he’s freshly showered, shaved, dressed in khakis, a white button up with an accompanying grey and soft olive green striped vest.

And a bag of materials he’d actually purchased not long after Henry brought up origami; multiple pieces of appropriately sized paper and a couple instruction booklets.

With his coat and shoes on, and his wallet, phone and keys tucked away in the pockets of his jacket, Spencer picks up the bag.

He moves to open his apartment door, only to be distracted by the sight of Maeve standing nearby and watching with an unreadable expression.

Spencer frowns. “What?”

She shakes herself and her expression shutters away.

“Nothing,” Maeve gestures towards the door. “After you.” The grin she wears now feels too forced to be genuine.

Spencer opens his mouth to speak, but ultimately decides against saying anything.

_Maybe it’s nothing._

_Oh come on, you can’t be in denial about everything._

_History would beg to differ._

A part of him does want to ask what’s wrong, _something_ obviously is, but…he can’t explain it.

When Spencer leaves the apartment, Maeve silently follows.

There was a time Spencer would’ve done anything to have her in his life, even if it was just like she is now, but now – in the midst of all his other jumbled emotions, Spencer feels a sense of… _wrongness_ about her being here, like she doesn’t belong, and it’s a feeling that has been increasing every day.

And yet the universe has clearly decided, for whatever reason, she is meant to be here.

How can she not belong and yet still be _meant_ to be here?

Spencer is probably reading too much into this.

 

~

 

This can’t be happening.

No, just – _no._ Spencer can’t believe this is happening.

His luck can’t be running this consistently _low._

Spencer had pulled up into JJ and Will’s driveway and turned off the ignition when he finally looked up and noticed the car, partially because as soon as they came to a stop Maeve – who was sitting in the passenger seat – inhaled sharply.

Her reaction suggested she recognized the car, but Spencer was too gobsmacked at what he was seeing to even begin processing how she possibly could.

It isn’t the police watch, they’re on the other side of the street, Spencer saw when driving up.

And it isn’t Emily’s; she’s meeting with the landlord of her upcoming loft apartment today.

Her car isn’t a black SUV anyway.

No, Spencer is currently, nose to bumper, hands frozen on the steering wheel and staring with unblinking eyes at Hotch’s car.

_JJ would’ve told me…_

_Wouldn’t she?_

Either way, however unintentionally, the man is _refusing_ leave him alone – in _all_ aspects of his life.

At this point, Spencer does little more than sigh and collapse with his forehead touching the steering wheel between his hands.

_Why is he here?_

Spencer can’t leave. He made a promise to Henry, and JJ.

_Suck it up._

_It’s not like you’ll be alone._

At least JJ will be there, Henry and Michael too, maybe Jack as well if Hotch is here.

And Maeve too, of course.

It’s not as much of a reassurance as Spencer thought it would be.

“Spencer.” Maeve murmurs from beside him.

He doesn’t lift his head, but does turn to face her.

_I can’t stay in here much longer; surely they must’ve seen my car by now._

“Yes?” Voice suddenly weary.

Spencer is too tired (emotionally) to even be bothered by the sympathetic eyes she’s flickering over his hunched form.

“You _can_ do this.” Is all she says; with a firm nod and a kind smile.

 _Doesn’t feel like it_ , he thinks but doesn’t say.

“Thank-you.” His lips quirk.

A few minutes later Spencer, bag in hand, is knocking on the door of the Jareau/LaMontagne home.

“ _Come in!_ ” He hears JJ loudly call from somewhere inside.

Spencer takes a deep breath and slowly, with a bit more caution than usual (internally bracing himself) opens the door.

He is immediately assaulted by the sweet smelling twin scents of coffee and cinnamon, and the voices of two young boys and one toddler.

_Jack is here then._

Spencer hasn’t seen him since the hospital.

The realization causes him to be a little faster in the removal of his coat and shoes.

Peripherally, he notices Maeve wander somewhere out of sight.

“Uncle Spence!”

Spencer can’t _not_ smile when Henry appears in foyer doorway, smiles wide immediately upon seeing him and rushes at his legs.

“Hey, what’s got you so excited?”

He laughs and kneels to properly hug the near bouncing Henry.

“You’re here.” Henry mumbles with a shrug, as if it’s a simple fact that doesn’t mean the world to Spencer in that moment.

_Damnit, don’t cry._

“I’m happy to be here.” Spencer says into the boy’s hair, and right then he means it.

Henry pulls away and looks excitedly at him.

“Jack and Mr. Hotchner are here too, they brought ready-to-bake cinnamon buns!”

_Ah, that explains the smell._

Spencer does his very best to not portray any anxiety.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Henry nods, suddenly serious. “Come on!”

Without waiting, Henry shoots out of there as fast as he entered. It doesn’t take long for the voices to resume.

Spencer, with a faint smile, stands straightens out his crouch.

Only to promptly freeze when he notices Hotch watching with an amused expression from the kitchen doorway; wearing a long sleeve black shirt, blue jeans, and a squirming Michael on his hip.

“Hi Spencer.” Hotch bounces Michael a little and eyes Spencer with a small, yet surprisingly warm smile.

_Shit._

Spencer swallows and uses the convenient cover of moving to take off his unbuttoned coat and hang it up on one of the nearby hooks, to compose himself.

“Hotch.” Spencer nods, giving him a kind nod as he turns back around.

Something twitches in Hotch’s expression that Spencer can’t quite place.

However, before he can think more of it -

“Spenny!” Michael squeals loudly and reaches toward him with grabby hands.

Spencer snorts despite the anxious rhythm of his heart.

He _still_ isn’t sure how Michael ended up calling him that.

Spencer and Hotch step towards each other, the latter carefully handing over the very heavy little boy, donned in bright green overalls, as Spencer by muscle memory takes him into his arms; bracing the toddler on his own hip.

That moment is when Maeve fades back into view, watching the small group with deeply thoughtful eyes.

Spencer doesn’t quite look either in the eye.

The easy, automatic way in which they did that…

_Why does it feel like my heart is breaking a little more?_

Spencer fervently buries the feeling and focuses on the little boy pulling at his vest.

“Hi Michael.” He smiles.

“Miss you.” Michael murmurs into his neck as he wraps his little arms around Spencer.

Spencer’s heart aches for an entirely different reason.

“How anyone _ever_ thought children didn’t like you…”

Spencer takes his eyes off Michael briefly at the sound of Hotch’s voice calm yet somehow still astonished.

He’s watching Spencer with arms casually crossed and with soft eyes fixed on Spencer and Michael.

Spencer squirms, not because of the heavy toddler, looks away; cursing the blush that _must_ be staining his cheeks.

“They’re different.” He mumbles into the slightly darker hair of Michael. Hotch hums, obviously not convinced. “Special.”

_Probably the closest I’ll get to children of my own._

“ _Ah_.” Hotch exhales quietly. “Birds of a feather then.”

Spencer _definitely_ looks up at that with slightly wide eyes.

He only vague registers Maeve nodding along.

_Um, what?_

“Come on, cinnamon buns are nearly done heating up and the coffee is just about ready.” Hotch, with quirked lips and a raised brow, gestures towards the kitchen and without waiting for a response, turns and walks out of sight.

Spencer doesn’t move for a moment, only blinks – slowly.

_What was that?_

“Spenny?”

Michael’s small voice breaks Spencer out of his mind fog.

“Let’s go get some treats.” His voice breaks awkwardly, but Michael doesn’t seem to care, and follows after Hotch towards the kitchen.

“Buns!” Michael squeals.

“Yes, buns.” Spencer acknowledges with a forced smile, feeling a bit on edge now.

He tries to ignore Maeve when he brushes past her, standing near the kitchen doorway off the side of the foyer, but Spencer doesn’t miss the way she’s watching him closely.

If what just happened is precedent for the rest of this visit (and he isn’t even sure what _it_ was) Spencer doesn’t know how he’ll get make it through the day.

Not without somehow revealing his true state of mind more than he already has.

 

~

 

JJ – who had been in the bathroom – enters the living room, adjoined to the kitchen, a few minutes after Spencer had settled in there with Michael, Henry and Jack, along with his bag origami of materials.

Hotch is currently in the kitchen.

Spencer is grateful for the freedom to get lost in only the company of the boys cross legged in front of him (except for Michael, who had promptly fallen asleep when Spencer laid down the suddenly tired boy in the nearby portable crib), papers and booklets spread out between them.

Jack seemed happy to see him, his cast would be on for a while yet, but Spencer was relieved to see how genuinely happy the boy seemed and he was pleasantly surprised when the boy gave him a hug.

Spencer didn’t hesitate to return it.

When Spencer started pulling out materials, Henry – and Jack – finally satiated Spencer’s curiosity about why Hotch and Jack were there in the first place.

Apparently when his mom told him Spencer was coming over, and mentioned the origami, Henry immediately called Jack (the two having become close friends in the last couple of years, despite the age difference) and told him about it – it didn’t seem to take much convincing for Jack to persuade his father to let him come over, Hotch obviously deciding to stay as well.

Hotch lives closer to JJ than Spencer, and all this took place when Spencer was in the car.

So JJ hadn’t neglected to tell him on purpose.

It made him feel a little better.

After entering the room, JJ immediately walks over, clad in shorts and a blue top, and kneels by Spencer.

He is ready for the hug she gives him, and doesn’t hesitate to hug her back.

“I’m glad you could come over.” She smiles, but looks apologetic as she pulls away. “I would’ve told you about-” JJ stops herself with a subtle nod towards the kitchen.

Spencer ignores the paranoid part of him screaming why she’s saying this like _she knows_ (or thinks she knows _something_ ) and instead hurriedly buries the feeling far, far away.

_You’re overreacting._

_Now is not the time to freak out._

Spencer waves off her concern with a shrug. “It’s alright.”

JJ hesitates, but ultimately appears to take him at his word. “Ok, I’ll just go see if Hotch needs any help.” With a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, she pushes herself up. “You boys need anything?” She eyes Jack and Henry, pouring over a page in the origami instruction manual with the image of a paper folded lion.

“No.” They both speak simultaneously, neither tearing their eyes away the book in-between them.

Spencer looks down with an amused smile.

And JJ huffs a little laugh. “Alright then.” She shakes her head fondly and pats Spencer on the head once.

She checks on Michael and very carefully picks him up before disappearing into the hallway and up the stairs, leaving the three of them alone.

Well, except for Maeve on the peripheries silently watching them with a tender heart.

“Oooh!” Henry suddenly exclaims, and Spencer’s attention is once again brought back to the boys.

“How is that possible with _one_ piece of paper?” Jack mumbles.

“What is it?”

The two of them look up at Spencer.

Henry then holds up the book with both hands, open and facing Spencer, while Jack points to an image of an origami fiddler crab.

“Can you make this?” Jack asks with a slightly skeptical look eerily reminiscent of his father.

“Oh he can.” Henry smirks, challenging.

Spencer crosses his arms.

_Alright, I’ll play along._

“Why Henry, are you doubting me?” Spencer raises a singular eyebrow.

“He is.” Henry gently elbows Jack in his side.

“Hey!” Jack grumbles. “I _know_ he can.”

“But…?” Spencer bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Henry and Jack share a look, barely seconds pass before Cheshire grins stretch across their faces and they fix Spencer with a challenging look.

“Can you do it in less than fifteen minutes?” Jack leans back and grins.

“I bet he can.” Henry shrugs, still holding the book.

“I bet he can’t.” Jack counters.

“I’ll take that bet.” Spencer interjects and holds his hand out for the book.

Henry gives it to him. Spencer promptly closes it and sets it aside before reaching into his bag for one of the larger pieces of paper; bright red.

“You’re not…?” Jack leans forward and looks between Spencer and the instruction booklet.

Henrys confusion matches his.

Spencer doesn’t say anything and grins at them mischievously.

Ever since he was a child Spencer has been doing origami, when he needed the challenge and the focus, or when he was simply bored. He often makes it a point to set himself time limits.

His record on the fiddler crab, arguably one of the more difficult subjects to create with one piece of paper, is 6 minutes and 24 seconds.

But Henry and Jack don’t know that.

And so, it is with increasingly wide and astonished eyes that the two boys stare in pure fascination as Spencer expertly folds his piece of paper into a fiddler crab with lighting quick speed.

4 minutes. 22 seconds.

Henry and Jack are silent as Spencer holds out the finished product in the palm of his hand.

“It said it would take hours…” Jack stares dumbfounded at the paper crab.

“He’s Magic!” Henry exclaims with a wide smile. “I _win_.” He sticks his tongue out at Jack.

Jack grumbles and looks away, but Spencer notices the smile his pride is trying very hard to fight.

Spencer smiles quietly and places the finished crab on top of his bag.

“Aren’t I the winner in this?”

As Jack reaches for the finished origami piece, Henry reaches for the book and the two put their heads together; like they’re trying to figure out how he did it so fast.

“No.” The two boys say automatically.

Spencer snorts, and he hears a guffaw from behind him.

He whips his head around at the familiar, albeit rare, sound.

Hotch is leaning against the archway joining the kitchen and the Livingroom; hands casually in his pockets and face shining with amusement.

_And there’s that lightness…_

“Um…” Spencer mumbles, a bit embarrassed as he awkwardly stands. “How long have you been there?”

Hotch smiles. “Long enough to realize I shouldn’t be surprised how proficient you are at making origami fiddler crabs.”

Spencer feels himself blush and nervously pushes the sleeves of shirt up to his elbows.

“Well, I-”

“Dad, look!” Jack interrupts and rushes over to him with the fiddler crab held aloft.

Grin still fixed on his face, Hotch dutifully reaches for the silly thing Spencer made and he really wishes Hotch would just let it go.

Nevertheless, Hotch examines it with both hands; never once appearing bored or anything other than amused by the whole thing.

“I’m impressed.”

“It’s just an origami crab.” Spencer mutters.

Jack, who had gone back to Henry after giving the origami piece to his father, doesn’t hear him – but Hotch, does.

“It is impressive.” Hotch repeats, eyeing Spencer.

_Can I please just go somewhere and pass out for a few years? That would be great._

Spencer blinks. “It’s an origami crab.”

Hotch laughs a little, “Nevertheless…” and reaches across the distance between them to hand the paper crab back to Spencer.

With a pounding heart, Spencer promptly takes it; carefully making sure not to touch any skin in the process.

Hotch then goes back into the kitchen, where Spencer notices JJ crouching near the oven – she must’ve recently come back from putting Michael down for a nap in a more quiet space.

Spencer is just standing here feeling a little… _thrown_ , by the weirdness of the past few minutes.

It takes Spencer approximately half a minute to shake himself and move; once again sitting (though on one of the sofas this time) near the boys, the two of them are now apparently working on their own projects; Jack a star, and Henry a frog.

Though his heart is still hammering hard in his chest, Spencer observes them silently with a fond smile, and puts his own origami down on the end table beside him.

He doesn’t take his eyes away from them, even when he notices Maeve walking over to him – in all honesty for a few minutes he’d forgotten she was there.

Her presence is hard to ignore though when she sits calmly next to him on the couch.

_How **much** did you see?_

Spencer tenses, expecting her to say… _something_.

But when she is silent for a minute, Spencer frowns and looks at her – only to immediately look away and shift uncomfortably when he notices she was already staring at him with startling intensity.

Spencer doesn’t want to bring attention to himself by speaking to Maeve; however it is obvious there is something on her mind – maybe whatever has had her withdrawn for the past several days?

_Maybe she’s figured out what she’s here for?_

Spencer stills.

_Huh, now there’s a thought._

_But then, if that’s the case…why isn’t she saying anything?_

Spencer turns to look at her, but…she isn’t there.

His brow crinkles into a frown, _where did she -_

He is distracted when Hotch and JJ enter via the kitchen; the former carrying a large tray of coffee and tea, the latter a platter of freshly baked cinnamon buns.

The combination of scents is absolutely heavenly.

“Here we are boys.” JJ calls out.

Of course Jack and Henry are up like a shot at the sight of gooey sweetness, and abandon their mess of paper to follow JJ as she moves over to the table in front the couch opposite to put the plate down.

Spencer sighs, but bites his lip to keep from smiling, and moves to clean up.

“Hey, Jack, help him clean up your mess would you?”

“You too Henry.” JJ adds.

There is only minor grumbling on their part, more so Henry than Jack, as they pull themselves away from the plate of cinnamon buns to obey their respective parents’ wishes.

“Oh, no it’s alright, I don’t mind. There’s really not much.” Spencer shrugs and graciously waves them off before starting to gather his materials back into the bag.

The two boys ignore him and help anyway.

Spencer looks up in time to catch Hotch and JJ giving their sons proud smiles.

He feels a little awkward now, but doesn’t say anymore.

In no time at all, Henry and Jack, after fulfilling their appointed duty, speed back over to the table of goodies.

Spencer puts the back aside and stands up - inhaling abruptly in surprise when he notices Hotch standing directly in front of him; not moving.

“Um–” Spencer’s jaw clicks shut when he finally notices that Hotch is holding _out_ the steaming mug to him, waiting for Spencer to take it.

Oh.

He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Thank-you.” Spencer mumbles and takes the warm mug with both hands; cursing himself inwardly when he notices them trembling.

_Idiot._

“You’re welcome.” Hotch nods kindly and goes to sit heavily on the nearest couch with a tired sigh.

It doesn’t escape Spencer’s notice that he isn’t partaking of the food or drink for himself.

Spencer takes a seat in the armchair nearby.

When Spencer drinks his first sip of the coffee Hotch prepared for him – of course it’s made _exactly_ how he likes it – the warmth he feels isn’t because of the hot liquid.

_It’s just **coffee.**_

Minutes later, everyone – _mostly_ everyone – is enjoying snacking on either cinnamon buns or drinking coffee/tea, but then Jack says three words that drastically alter the rooms’ atmosphere.

“Mom liked these.” Jack says to his now empty plate.

Spencer freezes, and then swallows the bit of bun in his mouth like a stone.

His first instinct is to look at Hotch.

The man is tense, expression blank and unreadable, but there is no hiding the sadness welling up in his eyes. Jack, sitting beside his father, is still staring down at his plate. Spencer notes the young boy is more lost in thought, or perhaps memory, than visibly sad.

Without a word, Hotch curls his arm tightly around Jack.

“Yeah, she did.”

Jack doesn’t protest when his father lightly kisses the top of his head.

JJ is quiet and reaches out to gently rest her hand on Hotch’s shoulder with a sad smile.

Henry is silent, but is staring at Jack from his beanbag chair on the floor with wide and uncertain eyes.

And Spencer is observing them carefully, this time his heart is breaking not for himself – but for the two men sitting across from him.

He wants to say something, but really – there is nothing he _can_ say.

Not to that.

The house phone ringing breaks the silence.

“Oh! Sorry, it’s probably Will.” JJ stands up and makes for the kitchen, but not before gently stroking the top of Jacks head, Henry too.

The quiet that follows her departure is anything but comfortable.

It doesn’t last long.

Shortly after Spencer hears JJ answer the phone, Henry puts his own plate on the table and practically shoots off the ground and stands in front of Jack.

“Hey Jack,” Henry smiles, Jack looks up him – and for a moment he seems surprised, like he’d forgotten where he was. “Want to see my Jughead and Archie comic collection?”

It takes a moment, but then Jack is smiling tentatively – and when Hotch gives his son a gentle nudge and an encouraging grin of his own (although in that case, Spencer sees the tension lingering around eyes indicating that he is putting it on for his sons benefit), Jack pushes himself off the couch with his one good arm.

“Sure.”

“Woohoo!” Henry whirls out of the Livingroom, laughing, with Jack hot on his heels – and definitely moving away from, at least for the time being, his more tragic memories.

In that moment, Spencer feels an overwhelming sense of pride in his godson (so insightful and compassionate despite his young age) and he smiles softly as the boys run into the hallway, soon followed by the loud sounds of their feet hurtling up the stairs.

His smile fades almost instantly however, because the minute Jack was out of the room – Hotch sighed and his head sunk heavily into his hands; hiding his face away from the world.

Spencer feels an overwhelming sense of helplessness as he stares at Hotch; distraught, his entire form the very picture of a man resigned to his fate.

_Haley._

Spencer frowns and looks down at his lap. One can only imagine how recent events must’ve stirred up so many emotions and memory for Hotch.

_Aaron._

_I want to fix this for you._

_I don’t know how._

It is when Spencer peers at his empty dishes that a memory pings, and he gets an idea.

Without a word, Spencer gets up and quietly takes whatever dishes he can fit onto the tray and carries into the kitchen.

Hotch doesn’t react at all.

When Spencer enters the kitchen, he notices JJ on the phone still and leaning against the counter near the fridge; gathering by the one-sided conversation he is only vaguely paying attention to, it is indeed Will she’s talking with.

Her eyes follow Spencer however when after he’s deposited the dishes in the sink, and put the left over coffee aside, he quickly rounds the kitchen island and opens the fridge beside her.

Spencer anxiously begins searching for his intended target.

_Henry loves it, there’s no way – aha!_

Spencer’s lip quirk in triumph for a moment and he reaches in to grab the chocolate milk.

There are undoubtedly “better” ways to do this, but – he’ll use what he can find.

Chocolate milk in hand, Spencer pulls out a new mug from the cupboard above the sink and sets it aside.

From a hook along the rack attached to the ceiling, Spencer grabs the smallest pot he can find and within a minute he has the left over coffee and chocolate milk heating up in front of him.

_This is stupid._

Spencer sighs.

_Maybe, but what else can I do?_

When tiny bubbles start to appear around the edges of brown liquid, Spencer turns off the stove and pours the concoction into the mug he had set aside.

Honestly, if it makes Hotch smile – even if it is at his own expense – Spencer will gladly take any potential embarrassment from this.

Mug carefully in hand, Spencer leaves the kitchen.

He doesn’t notice JJ gazing after him with a mystified expression.

When Spencer is once again faced with Hotch; he notices the man has changed position and is once again resting against the back of the couch. Only now he is staring out the window with a faraway look, not quite as despairing as he appeared a few minutes ago.

Suddenly Spencer really does feel like a bit of an idiot standing here with what barely passes for a Mocha. Hotch had pointedly avoided having coffee, maybe there’s a reason.

_Come on, don’t be a coward._

For once, Spencer listens to his inner voice.

He walks forward, and when Spencer stops in front of Hotch and the man still hasn’t appeared to have noticed him – Spencer coughs to get his attention.

Immediately Hotch breaks out of his reverie and looks up at the sound.

“Spencer.”

His expression changes little when he sees Spencer standing before him, although he seems a bit bemused at his proximity.

Shifting a bit awkwardly, Spencer backs up a step or two.

“Um…” _Just do it._ “Here.”

Hotch blinks, then looks at the mug Spencer is holding out to him.

It doesn’t escape Spencer’s notice the parallel at play here.

For a moment Hotch doesn’t take it, and Spencer tries very hard not to panic.

And then, he _does_ take it with a somewhat puzzled smile.

_There we go._

“Thank-you.” Hotch gestures with the mug and nods.

Spencer merely hums with a closed lip smile and nods awkwardly in return.

_Any time._

He is about to move away, but then Hotch takes a sip.

Spencer is frozen to the spot when those bottomless eyes widen in shock.

_Oh shit._

Only in the moment does Spencer fully realize what he just did – blatantly proved just how _much_ he pays attention to Hotch.

“How did you-? Not even H…”

_Oh god, Hotch is speechless._

**_Hotch._ **

Hotch looks from Spencer to the mug, and back again before pinning his eyes on him; utterly flummoxed and clearly waiting for an explanation.

Oddly enough, he looks a lot more perplexed than when Spencer _kissed_ him.

_At least he hasn’t thrown the thing at me._

Spencer gulps and unsuccessfully tries to calm the racing beat of his heart.

_Well, in for a penny…_

“Throughout our years long acquaintance I noticed whenever you were under a particular amount of emotional stress, you would drink Mocha’s almost exclusively – very different in comparison to the black coffee you usually drink when under intense mental pressure, or coffee with one cream no sugar most of the time – with the occasional exception of one or two sugars if you are in a good mood.” The run on sentence speeds out of Spencer in one, long breath.

And Spencer promptly curses inwardly, clenching his eyes tightly shut.

_I did **not** need to say all that._

_Shit._

Hotch is completely silent, and why Spencer is _not_ high-tailing it out of there, he has no idea.

“Spencer.”

He flinches at the sound of Hotch calmly saying his name, but somehow does manage to open his eyes and look Hotch in the eye.

(Behind his back Spencer is squeezing his nails _hard_ into his palms in effort to keep them from shaking)

Hotch’s eyes are unreadable, but at least he doesn’t look angry.

 _That isn’t necessarily a good thing,_ Spencer reminds himself.

_Maybe I should–_

“Thank-you.” Hotch murmurs, so, so kindly – not angry at all, but _touched._

_-what?_

Spencer blinks rapidly at Hotch in disbelief.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, if the man wasn’t angry or upset at Spencer basically _throwing_ himself at him, making him a goddamn pseudo _Mocha_ shouldn’t garner any reaction.

And yet –

“You’re…welcome.” Spencer says in lieu of anything else, feeling increasingly self-conscious with the way Hotch is staring at him.

_It was…just a crappy Mocha made with chocolate milk._

Spencer finally can’t stand it anymore and tears his eyes away from Hotch’s unrelenting stare and returns to where he had been sitting before; trying to settle.

It’s not working.

Spencer looks around; trying to focus on _anything_ else that _isn’t_ Hotch.

He spots her sitting cross-legged on a cushioned bench not far away.

“Maeve.” Spencer sighs in relief. For the first time, he is honestly – if not comforted, than grateful, to see her.

No matter where she disappeared off to before.

 _Any_ buffer between him and the indomitable Hotch stare, even if Spencer is the only one aware of it, comes as a breath of fresh air.

That is, until he notices the odd look Maeve is giving him; she’s smiling, but also appears somewhat startled and doesn’t say anything as she tilts her head towards –

_Oh._

_Fuck._

Spencer stiffens, and braces himself before looking at Hotch with trepidation.

_I said her name out loud._

Hotch seems only vaguely nonplussed, and perhaps a bit suspicious as he looks to where Maeve is – where to him, there is nothing – and back at Spencer with slightly raised brows.

Hotch is not idiot.

Spencer fully realizes that if Hotch were to put two and two together – he would probably come to the right conclusion.

This is why, when Hotch leans forward and looks as though he’s going to _say_ something –

“Not now.” Spencer quickly interrupts him, heart thumping loudly in his ears.

Hotch blinks, expression shuttered and blank. However, he does nod in acquiescence and leans back in his seat.

_Shit._

_Shit, shit!_

_I didn’t mean to -_

Spencer is trying very hard to remain calm right now – or at least _appear_ to be.

Since there is no way in _hell_ he could possibly be calm right now.

Maybe if he stares at the carpet long enough he can hypnotize himself.

Spencer barely registers it when JJ walks back into the room, holding the phone slightly away from her mouth.

“Will is on his way home, and is bringing Popeye’s for a late Lunch, you’re all welcome to stay if you’d like?”

Spencer doesn’t say anything; neither does Hotch – at least, not at first.

JJ then appears to notice the tension in the room, and glances between them with concern.

She puts the phone back up to her ear without taking her eyes off the two men in front of her.

“Yeah, bring two family meal deals just in case. Ok, love you, see you soon.” JJ hangs up and crosses her arms. “Alright,” JJ exhales. “What’s going on?”

“I-I can’t stay, sorry. Thank-you for today, but I need to go.”

Spencer doesn’t look at any of them as he springs out of his seat and hurries to grab his bag.

Both Hotch, and Maeve, stand.

“Oh, alright, Spence, are you-?”

“I’m fine JJ. I’ll call you later. Tell the boys I had an emergency and had to go.”

“ _Spence_ -”

“Spencer-”

He avoids the three, _very_ different gazes and two voices of the people around him and quickly leaves the room; rushing to put on his coat and shoes.

No one stops him as he runs out of the house, the door slamming shut behind him.

Spencer will eventually have to stop running away.

Once he learns how not to.

~

 

Meanwhile, a distance not too far away, two men are discreetly parked in an ordinary, silver Hyundai sedan.

One of them; a gruff, older gentleman is casually lying back in the drivers seat – the other; younger, with a very stark appearance is staring out the front window.

Both are clad in dark clothing.

“Why can’t we just come back later?”

The older man sighs. “Because we know he’s here _now_ , and our resources aren’t infinite – we need to know if he leaves for any reason, today especially.” He drones in exasperation, as though he has explained this many times before now.

The younger one grunts. “I know we have to wait for darkness and all, blah blah, but we’ve got _six hours_. Does she _really_ think we have to be here the entire time?”

“Apparently.”

“Ugh.”

“Try to get that attitude out while she’s not around would you?”

The younger man laughs. “Ha! I am nothing but the perfect little employee around her, trust me.”

“I don’t,” The older man grumbles. “But good to know.”

A moment passes. The younger one squirms nervously in his seat.

“You know this is suicide right? They’re FBI Agents!”

The other one groans in annoyance. “FBI Agents, not supermen, and whatever you think neither of us exactly have the option of backing out now. Unless you _are_ suicidal.”

“Might as well be.” The younger man grumbles. “Six hours, can’t wait.” He adds with no small amount of sarcasm.

“Mhm.”

Silence descends upon the car, and the younger man never once takes his weather eye off the home of one David S. Rossi.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 

_“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague._

_Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”_

_~ Edgar Allan Poe_

 

 

 

 

 

Spencer has yet to leave his car.

Actually, he hasn’t even left JJ and Will’s driveway.

The second he got in, door closed, belt on and key in the ignition - all the adrenaline left him and Spencer just sunk into his seat; breathing deeply and staring forward in a mind fog.

_Yeah…all that just happened._

He needs to leave, he _wants_ to leave, but for whatever reason his hand is frozen on the key.

The peak of his burning emotion had rapidly declined when he was alone (mostly), and now…

Spencer is so torn in what feels like infinite directions, and he just – he _can’t_ move.

He’s _angry_ , but not at Hotch, or even Maeve, or anyone.

No one that is, apart from him.

Spencer is sitting here, a mess inside and out, and even if he tried to pretend otherwise – the truth is, he has no one to blame but himself for this situation.

_I don’t know how to stop._

**_All_ ** _this…_

_What’s wrong with me?_

“Nothing.”

Oh, he must’ve inadvertently spoken the last one out loud.

Spencer exhales unsteadily and turns to face Maeve. Sitting beside him, with crossed legs and her hands resting delicately atop her thighs, she could almost be the very ideal calm - if not for the bright fire in her eyes.

“There is nothing _wrong_ with you Spencer,” Maeve leans across the gap, trapping him in place with her stare. “No more so than the rest of us, you are _human_ , the very best of us and yet, you are so _completely_ unaware of how much you’re worth, for all that you are,” Spencer clenches his eyes shut and turns away from her. “You just, seem to pick and choose which parts of yourself to live with, and confine the rest. When that happens, things do tend to fester.”

Spencer opens his eyes and looks at Maeve curiously.

_She’s referring to something specific, without being specific at all…_

_And yet – she’s not necessarily **wrong.**_

He meets her sympathetic gaze. “It’s how I’ve survived.” Spencer shrugs with a sad, resigned smile.

Maeve’s mouth twists a little, clearly unhappy with the response.

“Maybe, that’s not enough anymore.” She posits.

Spencer laughs, once and bitterly. _No shit. Or I wouldn’t be here._ “Yeah.”

 _But if not that, then what?_ Spencer doesn’t say.

It’s hard to find a new set of tools when you’re running blind, and getting hit with reckless and stubborn emotions around every corner.

Sudden, loud knocking on his car window startles him; causing him to flinch and his heart to beat a little bit faster.

Spencer whips his head around and looks out the window.

He inhales sharply through gritted teeth.

A very familiar figure is leaning down and peering at him through the window, motioning for Spencer to open it with a questioning eyebrow lilt.

Spencer supposes given the way he exited and the fact that he’s stalling in the driveway, would’ve guaranteed someone coming to check on him.

When he heard the knock, he expected to see JJ.

Instead, Spencer is staring into the penetrating eyes of Hotch.

_Of course._

_He’s not going to ask me about Maeve **now** , is he?_

Spencer swallows when he feels his stomach twist.

A cowardly part of him thinks he should just drive away…Go home, sleep, tackle the case when he has a clearer head (hopefully).

He sighs.

_Goddamnit._

Spencer ignores the nervous twitching of his hands and turns on the ignition-

-and then lowers the windows, before turning off the car again.

A tepid, moist late afternoon breeze hits his face; cooling the hot flush on his cheeks.

Spencer is trying to ignore the dread building in his gut, but – why _is_ Hotch out here?

He opens his mouth to speak, intending on reiterating on how he doesn’t want to talk about _it_ yet.

Or _ever._

“Spencer, I thought you were leaving, are you alright?” Hotch talks before Spencer can.

_Oh. Right._

_I’m still here._

_I’m not alright._

“I’m fine.” Spencer shrugs and doesn’t meet Hotch’s eyes.

Once the window went down, Hotch leaned forward to his fold arms on the edge of the open window.

This puts him face level with Spencer, very, _very_ close, hence why he isn’t directly meeting the man’s eyes; and instead stares intently at the nervous twitching of his thumb as it picks at the cuticles of his opposite hand.

“Just tired.” Not a lie, but certainly not the truth Hotch obviously wants.

Hotch doesn’t say anything for a minute, and if Spencer couldn’t feel the hot, moisture of the man’s breath – sending tingles down his limbs – on the side of his neck, he would think Hotch had left with how quiet he’s being.

Eventually Spencer forces himself to look back; Hotch is breathing deeply and staring at the space between his upper body and the car with a worried frown.

“Well, there’s no way Jack _won’t_ insist on stay for Popeye’s. So before you go, may I have your advice?”

Spencer blinks in disbelief.

_That…what?_

“Um, ok?” Spencer eyes him a bit warily, but also uneasy.

It’s not unusual for Spencer to avoid peoples gazes sometimes, but Hotch being the one to avoid looking at him (he’s still firmly eyeing the ground, with his arms laid across the empty window and hands clasped together) raises a few alarm bells – It’s uncharacteristic of the man.

Hotch nods and takes a deep, audible breath.

“I have a friend, whom I suspect has recently been harshly reminded of a loss they experienced,” Spencer’s heart stops. _Wait – is he?_ “-and it is probably causing them to relive some very painful memories, much more viscerally than he maybe has for a while. I was there, when it happened.”

_Oh he is, he definitely is._

Spencer gulps and grasps his thighs tightly in effort to ground himself.

“My friend,” Hotch finally lifts his head, but still isn’t looking Spencer in the eye; instead choosing to frown at his hands. “His recovery was hard, and with his tendency to retreat and shut out the world when he’s grieving, there were times when I – and others who care about him – weren’t sure if he would ever come out of it, at least enough to live again.” Hotch articulates every word with care and finally, lifts his head up. When Hotch meets his eyes with careful reticence, as though carefully considering his words, Spencer finds he is suddenly unable to breathe. “I am worried that it may happen again, what would you do? If you were me?” There are signs of distress in tightening lines of his mouth, and tense jaw muscle, but mostly in the way he flicks his gaze over Spencer’s face, gauging his reaction.

Anyone with basic intuition and observational skills would be able to see through the thin veil barely disguising the subject being referred to.

_Him._

_And Maeve._

When Spencer realized it was Hotch outside his car, he didn’t exactly imagine this is what Hotch wanted to share.

Yet here he is, dumbstruck and desperately trying to calm his breathing as he listens to Hotch all but directly tell him;

_“If Maeve is indeed with you, I’m worried, I want to help but I don’t know how. Tell me what I can do.”_

No matter how many times Spencer is told that there are many people who care for him, than find him worthwhile and not just for his mental and intellectual capabilities, there is still a part of him that is surprised every single time he hears it.

Perhaps because, on some level, Spencer believes he’ll always be somewhat of an outsider, certainly has for most of his life – so falls back on the assumption that his problems are _his_ and his alone?

Even so, Spencer can’t even _begin_ to parse how hearing _Hotch_ say it, personally, makes him feel.

He swallows, and it takes every bit of strength he has not to let his eyes well with tears.

“I think, he is already being affected by this – very present reminder. I see it every time I see him. He’s hurting, and trying very, _very_ hard to hide it. ” _And failing, apparently_ , Spencer’s mind whispers. “It’s his words, his _actions_ -”

Whether it was done consciously or not, Spencer notices Hotch dart his eyes down to Spencer’s lips for a moment, before looking back up at him with an unreadable expression.

Spencer inhales sharply, momentarily too thrown to freak out at the first blatant sign of acknowledgement on his part of what Spencer foolishly did.

_Wait, is **this** what he thinks? That I kissed him because I am upset and on edge from Maeve’s presence? Now at least, whatever he thought before realizing Maeve is…_

Hotch isn’t wrong in that Maeve’s presence is affecting him, however it seems Hotch hasn’t grappled with the possibility there was more than _one_ motivation behind that kiss.

Spencer would think he’d feel relieved.

He isn’t.

Right now – dissecting his emotions feels impossible when under the scrutinizing, albeit kind, eyes of Hotch.

“If you were me, how would _you_ ,” Hotch casually gestures in Spencer’s direction. “-go about letting him know that there _are_ many people, including yourself, who would do everything within their power to at least make his difficulties just a little bit easier. Especially now.” Hotch leans forward a little, if possible appearing even more serious. Spencer swallows a whimper. “What would you say, that would make him believe that he has friends and family that want to help him because they _want_ to, _not_ because they feel obliged to?”

Spencer is speechless, staring at Hotch with wide eyes.

_He’s **actually** asking._

_Aaron._

_How are you even real?_

“He knows you.” Maeve whispers from beside him.

_Yeah._

Spencer gulps, and after half a minute – Hotch patiently waiting all the while – he finds enough courage to speak.

“How come, you – you’re not talking to _him_ about this?” His voice comes out cracked, and Spencer shifts awkwardly in his seat.

Hotch’s lips quirk with a melancholic smile. He takes a deep breath and adjusts his stance leaning against Spencer’s car door before.

“Because, there is a chance that I might be wrong. I don’t want to risk bringing up a painful subject unnecessarily if that is the case. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love more than your own life. When you love like that, in a way, you never stop.” Hotch murmurs, not once taking his eyes off Spencer’s face.

_More than your own life…I have known that feeling._

_Twice._

If a tear runs down Spencer’s face, no one mentions it.

His entire mind, heart and boy ache, and very pointedly – Spencer does _not_ look at Maeve.

Being this close to the two people who hold similar, if not different corners, of his heart is a heartbreaking cruelty he would rather not be reminded of.

It only just occurs to Spencer how unnervingly similar their closeness is to _that_ dream.

The realization hurts like _hell._

Spencer breathes in shakily, and looks away for a moment. Maeve he notices is watching him carefully, her hand rests very close to his leg – wanting to touch, comfort. What makes it even worse is that in her eyes Spencer can see it isn’t just out of a desire to comfort him, but herself as well.

None of this is ideal, and Spencer has no idea how to make it better.

When he looks back at Hotch, he notices the man is looking at him with an expression disconcertingly alike to Maeve’s; concerned, patient, alert.

There is a feeling akin to knives stabbing him repeatedly in the chest.

“I-” _want to go back home. Need to, but._ Spencer looks at Hotch’s face and just, he _can’t_ leave it like this. _Not this time._ Spencer takes a deep breath and forces himself to sit up straight despite his body aching from the tense muscles and adrenaline.

_Alright, I’ll follow your lead Aaron._

“You have good instincts Hotch, I wouldn’t doubt them in this regard.” Spencer swallows audibly, and Hotch shifts a bit on his feet; storm eyes focused attentively on him. “Maybe your friend – maybe he just needs time, he could be uncomfortable accepting help from people, even those close to him.” Spencer anxiously begins tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor. “But perhaps…knowing that it might put the people who care about him at ease he could, someday, learn to share a little more.”

If before, Spencer had been expecting Hotch to end up looking reassured by what he said, he is sorely disappointed.

If anything Hotch seems troubled.

Spencer resists the urge to squirm this time.

“He could, but I hope my friend realizes that doing things _only_ for the sake of others, especially at your own expense, is in the long run dangerous and can have lasting consequences.” For a moment, Hotch’s mouth tightens. “It is a painful lesson I have had to learn.” Spencers looks away from Hotch and towards his lap again; trying to keep his emotional turmoil less physically apparent. “And I hope, my friend realizes, regardless of what anyone has said or done, his heart is just as strong as his mind, if not more so. I am _proud_ to know him.”

_Oh…damnit._

Spencer closes his eyes tightly.

_Still **not** crying._

This entire conversation has been surreal to the extreme.

That statement from Hotch seems to only increase the feeling.

_If my heart really **is** that strong, then why am I here?_

_He’s proud to know him? **Proud?**_

Still, it would be lying if Spencer said Hotch’s words hadn’t made him feel warm inside.

It doesn’t mean that Spencer gets why others have so much faith in him when he has almost none for himself, especially lately.

_I think you hit the nail on the head there buddy._

He blinks away tears as he opens his eyes. “Why would you think that?” Spencer hears himself ask, and then sharply curses inwardly. _I did not mean to ask that._

Hotch just smiles; reserved – barely there. “ _Because_ he doesn’t believe me.”

“Ah.” Spencer nods absentmindedly, not quite sure what to say to that. _I want to believe you,_ he thinks – quietly – to himself. “You’re friend sounds frustrating.”

_I should know._

Hotch laughs. “He is.”

Spencer isn’t quite sure how to take that, but based on how Hotch said it with traces of fondness alight in his face - Hotch almost sounds like it’s a point in his _“friends”_  -Spencer’s, favour.

It’s very hard for Spencer not to smile, at least a little – no matter that he’s finding it increasingly hard to breathe because of Hotch’s close proximity and dangerous words.

He hears (and feels) Hotch move.

Spencer looks up at him and sees that he has pushed himself away from the car, although his arms are still stretched out with his hands on the window with a frown tensing his forehead.

He seems…uncertain.

Spencer fidgets uncomfortably. “Hotch?”

The man exhales loudly and stands up fully, regarding Spencer with a carefully veiled look.

“Thank-you for today, I haven’t seen Jack smile that much since…” He trails off with lingering pain, but the gratitude shining in his eyes is unmistakable.

Spencer blinks at the non sequitur.

And he feels it almost physically when something in the moment flickers away.

He ignores the feeling for now, and despite everything, graces Hotch with a small smile.

“Anytime.” The words are heavily laden with layers of implication and truth, Spencer doesn’t know if Hotch can tell – but _he_ can feel it down to his aching bones.

Hotch doesn’t smile, but his eyes shine. “I know.”

Spencer looks away awkwardly for a moment and absently fiddles with his keys.

“If I suddenly find my home overrun with origami, at least I’ll know who to blame.”

Spencer, not saying a word (not _trusting_ himself to speak at this point), shrugs unashamedly and gives Hotch a barely there grin.

“Oh I see how it is,” Hotch grins humorously and holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright then, I give up – death by origami avalanche it is.”

Spencer bites his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

The moment of levity doesn’t last however, and with barely any hesitation Hotch reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Take care, Spencer.”

Spencer swallows the stone of unspoken words.

_He could’ve come out here to persuade me to stay, but he didn’t._

_He…_

“You too, sir.” Spencer tacks the moniker on not solely out of habit, but as a way to distance himself from the swell of feeling building in his chest.

If Hotch notices he doesn’t acknowledge it, only gives a solemn nod. His hand then falls away and he walks back the way he came.

“He wants to know you’ll be ok.” Maeve whispers softly.

_Yeah…I noticed._

Spencer frowns, waits until he sees Hotch close the door of JJ and Will’s house behind him before looking at Maeve.

In a way, he’s glad he wasn’t _truly_ alone during that conversation. That doesn’t mean he isn’t apprehensive about what she might say about it, especially since she is the one person who truly, unequivocally _knows_.

Except, other than that quiet remark – Maeve is silent; observing him carefully.

After a moment of further silencer, Spencer sighs deeply; feeling – if not better, than at least more composed (in some respects) than he had been feeling previously.

He turns the key in the ignition, and the car rumbles to life.

Spencer leaves the window down as he drives way; lost in his own jumbled mind, _my_ _wandering child_ , the voice of his mother echoes.

It isn’t until he’s already been driving for a few minutes, that he finally responds to what Maeve said.

“I’m not ok…” _Understatement of the year,_ Spencer trails off a bit shakily. He notices Maeve sitting calmly beside him, turn to look; patiently waiting for him to finish.

On a soft exhale, he adds; “but I will be.”

 

~

 

Many hours later, after Spencer realized that if he _again_ spent another night pouring over the flower and CCTV photographs he really would go insane, he decided to turn in early.

Well, early for _him_.

And now, he is miraculously asleep.

However, that doesn’t last.

Approximately an hour after Spencer ensconced himself in bed, he receives one of the most terrifying phone calls of his life.

 

The shrill ringing of his phone shocks Spencer out of sleep.

“Ugh…” He groans and rolls onto his back; the only light in the dark of his bedroom is the faint, blueish glow of his phone buzzing insistently on his side table.

Spencer groans again when he reaches for his phone and simultaneously notices that he hasn’t even been asleep an hour.

_The one time I actually decide to sleep for once…_

Thinking it must be one of the team; Spencer yawns, rubs his eyes and answers the phone without bothering to check the number.

“Hello?” Spencer mumbles.

“Justice shall be done. Say goodbye to them, Dr. Reid.”

The voice sounds female; flat, unfamiliar and –

_Say goodbye to them?_

**_Them…_ **

_Justice shall be done – wait, that’s what -_

His eyes open wide.

A sharp breath escapes him as something very much like fear takes hold; Spencer is suddenly, very alert and throws his covers off.

“Who am I speaking with?” It takes everything in Spencer to keep his voice steady.

Inside he is panicking; mind flooding with worst case scenarios.

Because _this_ must be –

“I’m giving you a chance to say goodbye Dr. Reid,” The same voice patently disregards his demand, continuing on as if he never spoke at all. “A chance you never gave me. Do not waste this.”

_What?_

Before Spencer can begin to parse a response multiple sounds from the other end of the phone catch his attention; voices, distant and muffled, and then there is indistinct chatter from at least one (maybe two?) men – hard to tell over the rushing of his blood.

And then, Spencer hears a voice he would know anywhere.

“Spence, Spence I’m _sorry_ -”

_Oh god no._

_No!_

Spencer’s fingers clench around the phone and he shoots up from his bed; eyes wide with horror.

“ _JJ_.” He feels sick. “JJ, are you alright? What’s happened?” Spencer gushes out in a desperate rush; frantically pacing now.

 “I’m so sorry, they would’ve hurt Henry, Michael, I couldn’t…” Spencer can tell she is trying very hard to hold back sobs. “I’m sorry, I had to give it to them, please forgive me.”

Spencer stiffens.

_Henry._

_Michael._

Spencer assumes JJ gave them - whoever they are - his phone number.

“JJ, shh, it’s alright, its _fine_. I understand, I’m _not mad_.” If Henry or Michaels lives were - _are_ , at stake, how could he be? Spencer would gladly give his life to save them, his number is nothing.

He tries to sound calm when he speaks to her, but right now – there is nothing Spencer can do to stop the fear flooding him.

“They want-” Her voice is cut off, and Spencer hears her loud protests growing fainter.

“JJ!” Spencer shouts helplessly into the phone, gasping heavily.

There are some fierce scuffling sounds, and then two other voices grow louder until –

“Hi kid, JJ is fine. We’re alive.”

He freezes and stares unseeing at the wall ahead of him; barely noticing he is elbow deep in his clothes dresser, apparently in the process of frenziedly getting dressed.

_Rossi?_

“They don’t have the kids, it’s just us.”

_Alex._

_Oh god._

Spencer is like stone as he collapses forward in shock, ending up bent over the dresser; mind a haze of fear.

_No no no no._

_What – what’s going on?_

Suddenly, all their voices drift away and Spencer is sure there are other important things to focus on, but right now all he notices is just that - the voices of people he loves getting muffled and fading out.

 _Alex_ – Spencer fights to keep himself steady when he feels his legs shaking, he will be no good to anyone if he collapses in anguish – _said_ _“it’s just us” …her, Rossi and JJ?_

_How the hell were they **all** taken? _

_Has anyone noticed?_

Just as rapidly as he lost ear of the others, that chilling voice from before is once again loud and haunting in his ear.

“You’re horrible at saying goodbye, aren’t you?”

“Don’t-” _Don’t hurt them,_ he stops himself from saying. In no way is there a reasonable person on the other end of his phone.

He wants to ask _why_ , why are you doing this?

The second he heard the words “justice shall be done”, he knew these were the people who sent those flowers.

_We suspected. We all **knew** something else was likely to happen._

_There are watches on everybody!_

_How could this have happened?_

_Why them? Rossi, JJ and Alex?_

_If I’m the focal point…_

“I should’ve known, you BAU agents aren’t exactly known for your strict adherence to rules.” The voice has grown harsher.

Spencer forces himself to swallow the angry words wanting to rage out of him.

“I don’t know the rules, why don’t you tell me?” _Talking, keep her talking; maybe she’ll make a mistake._

He should be calmer, more in control, this is basically his job – but, these are _his_ people. His _family._

How can Spencer be anything other than _terrified?_

He absolutely refuses to lose anyone else.

“Why should I tell you anything? You didn’t say goodbye, not when you could’ve…just like me, this is all because of you _Dr. Reid._ ” The woman furiously spits his name like it is the most horrid of curses.

Spencer quickly stands back and opens his nearest dresser drawer, and pulls out the first pair of pants and shirt he sees – immediately pulling them on over his naked (except for yesterday’s boxers) body.

All without moving the phone away from his ear for even a second.

“I’m sorry, whatever I did-”

“ _Shut up!_ ” She yells. “The doer does not get to apologize.” And just like that, she is calm again. Definitely unstable, in more ways than one.

_I did something, or at least…she blames me for something that happened to her._

Yet her voice doesn’t ping anywhere in his memory.

“The mother, the sister, the father…” She continues, words a haunting lullaby. “The brother, the lover, those last two are tricky.”

Spencer’s heart thumps painfully in his chest as he onehandedly pulls up a pair of black sweats, and he’s biting his lip so hard he feels a drop of blood dribble down his chin.

_Need to get moving, need to save -_

“I’ll give you one last chance, say goodbye or-” Spencer hears rustling. And then, a very familiar _click_. Spencer’s blood freezes. _No…!_  “I’ll kill them before you get the chance.”

There’s a gunshot.

Spencer _screams._

He thinks he sees the movement to his right, but he doesn’t care.

He just heard a gun – _please, please say she didn’t -_

“Relax genius that was a warning shot.” Relief makes him feel dizzy, but the feeling is short-lived however. “Now, what is it you need to do?”

“Say goodbye.” Spencer says quickly.

“Good little boy.”

Spencer, haphazardly dressed, sits down hard at the end of his bed; breathing heavily. His hand has not lessened its white-knuckled hold on the phone.

_Breathe, you need to focus._

_For…For JJ, Alex, Rossi…_

Spencer fights back the tears building behind his eyes.

“I’ll tell you what; I’ll give you twenty seconds with the mother.”

_JJ?_

Sick apprehension builds in his gut. There’s a beep, and then the sound coming from the phone changes.

“You, talk to him, but _be careful_.” There is another click of the gun ( _does she have a revolver?_ ); the sound, a warning, and her voice now have a tinny echo.

_Speaker phone?_

“Spencer.” He is confused, but only for a moment. _Alex? How is she_ – “You need to say goodbye.”

Alex is doing an incredible job at remaining calm, and who knows what’s been – _no. Can’t think about that, not now._

He’s on speaker phone; he can’t risk _not_ saying it.

“Goodbye.” Saying it makes him feel sick.

_This won’t be goodbye, I promise._

_You can’t promise that._

_SHUT UP!_

“It’s alright Spencer,” Alex utters steadily, with only the barest hint of concealed distress. “You just stay safe; I would rather face death than see you die.”

“No-” An angry tear falls. “You won’t have to-”

“Ten seconds.” The woman interjects.

“Spencer, listen to me, it’s _true_ ; one is a punishment, and the other a misfortune I can live with.” Something about the words hits Spencer as…familiar? “You’ll-”

“Alright, times up.” Spencer shouts when he hears what sounds like Alex being dragged away also. “Now, now Dr. Reid.” The woman speaks, much closer now. “I think we’re just about done, still a few…hiccups. The brother and the lover will take a bit more creative thought, but in the meantime.” She pauses on a soft inhale. “I hope you liked my flowers. Goodbye.”

“ _No-_ ”

She hangs up.

The loud dial tone accompanies the painful ringing in his ears.

For a second, Spencer is utterly still; overwhelming shock still absorbing his body.

_I went to sleep, and woke up in a nightmare._

For the first time Spencer abruptly notices Maeve kneeling in front of him, waving her hands hysterically at his face – trying to get his attention. God only knows how he looks.

“Spencer? _Spencer!_ What happened? What’s going on?”

The sound of her voice is what breaks Spencer out of his dazed, already cursing himself for wasting even a _second_ when the lives of his family are at risk.

He doesn’t say anything to Maeve; instead Spencer quickly stands up – running on nothing but pure adrenaline at this point.

Calling is too slow.

Spencer frantically sends the team, Will and the police who were _supposed to be watching_ the others, a group text.

After that he rushes out of his room, buttoning up the rest of his shirt – a bright pink one – as he goes.

When he quickly pulls on his coat and slips on his shoes without bothering to tie them, he remembers Maeve.

“Spencer please, _tell me what happened!_ You look like death.”

“JJ, Rossi and Alex were kidnapped.”

Maeve inhales sharply. “Oh god.”

Spencer looks at her, standing nearby and staring at him with worry in her eyes and both hands over her dropped jaw, as he flings open his door; anxious to leave.

And it’s when he looks at Maeve’s face that he _comprehends._

_I **knew** they were familiar._

_She wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t somehow related to –_

_Impossible._

_She could’ve said anything, yet she said that._

_And she knew, she **knows** how significant it is to me, and **why –**_

Spencer inhales sharply and just, _stops_.

“Oh…I know what this is about.” Spencer gasps with eyes wide and frozen.

“Spencer?”

“You.”

“What?”

His phone, concealed in his jacket pocket, suddenly vibrates with an influx of text messages.

He doesn’t look at them.

“Somehow,” Spencer breathes in shakily as he stares at Maeve. “This, all this, is about _you_.”

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

            

 

_“Evil might not prevail in the end, but it certainly doesn't fail to devastate in its time.”_

_~ Richelle E. Goodrich_

 

 

 

Spencer, out of breath from running through the building, arrives to find the BAU in chaos.

Everyone is there; Garcia, Luke, Tara, and Emily, even Derek and the FBI director. All show signs of obvious exhaustion and anger; fueled no doubt largely by worry.

Spencer sees, and hears, the yelling (Derek) and angry gesturing of arms (Luke and Tara) from some of the team, mostly directed towards a fatigued looking police captain, while the FBI Director and Emily try their best to mediate, and Garcia is heatedly pacing back and forth talking on the phone.

Through the glass on the far side of bullpen, Spencer sees Will; looking haggard, fear barely concealed behind the tense lines of his face as he sits holding Hank and Michael close to him.

Spencer breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the boys are ok, at least physically.

Then he sees Jessica, which must mean – _yes_ , Jack is there too, half hidden behind his Aunt but with a firm arm around Henry.

However, there is one person Spencer doesn’t see.

“ _No..._ ”

Spencer rushes forward, heart jumping in his throat, and pushes open the door; eyes frantically searching the area.

_Breathe, breathe, Jack is here, and someone would’ve told you if he…he were taken too._

_Unless it just – **No**. It couldn’t have. Think rationally. You’re panicking._

No one has seen him yet; at the moment too distracted to notice him standing distraught just inside the bullpen doors.

_Of course I’m fucking panicking!_

_My friends, my family have been -_

Spencer is virtually hyperventilating when Rossi’s office door opens and –

Hotch gently closes the door behind him, his face a façade of absolute control; the kind he wears only when he’s truly worried and determined not to show it.

Spencer really thinks he might cry.

_Or maybe kiss him again. Damn the consequences._

It figures that is the thing that would break him.

For a moment, Spencer is too relieved to move.

There is a loud bustling of activity happening all around him, and maybe it’s horrible, but all Spencer can think of is – at least he’s here, _safe._

_Unlike Maeve._

_Careful, you’re losing it._

Spencer is seriously beginning to wonder if he ever had “ _it_ ” at all.

Hotch, walks down the few stairs towards the centre of the room where everyone else is, and unknowingly – Spencer.

“Hotch.”

Spencer takes an aborted step forward.

Hotch stops abruptly and looks around at the sound of his voice; finally spotting him standing only a few feet away.

Spencer must look quite the sight; untied shoes, black sweatpants and a button pink shirt clashing horribly with his corduroy jacket.

And he couldn’t care less, really.

“Reid.” Someone who didn’t know the man wouldn’t be able to tell, but to Spencer the relief in Hotch’s eyes is unmistakable; the way lines of tension smooth out, even if for only a moment.

Everyone here has lost too much, not just Hotch and Spencer. There is not one person here that is willing to lose anyone else, or not do everything they can to find their people, not while they still draw breath.

The feeling is particularly strong in situations as dire as this, no matter the precise nature of it, whenever you see the face of someone you love in front of you – it is more than a relief, it is a comfort.

“Reid, Spencer, _are_ you alright?” Hotch walks toward him with his hands slightly outstretched when Spencer doesn’t move _._

_No, I’m not._

He must look dreadful, gathering by the look on Hotch’s face and the expression of the others who finally noticed his presence.

Spencer’s eyes are wide and misty, unable to stop staring, and in the moment he does not care how revealing or disproportionate his reaction is if he were only seeing a _friend._

No matter how much Spencer may explain, or rationalize it differently, Hotch holds a place in his heart that no one else in this room does.

“ _Hotch_.” Spencer mouths silently.

Hotch doesn’t have time to react before Spencer is running forward and colliding with him, causing the two to stumble – yet somehow, _not_ fall over. Spencer throws his arms tightly around Hotch’s shoulders and buries his face in the warm, calming material of his jacket. “You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok…” Spencer mutters with faltering breath over and over again in an endless loop of pure gratitude, squeezing the man in his arms a little tighter each time.

_I won’t go through this again._

_I can’t._

Spencer starts to shake.

Hotch, who had stiffened in surprise when Spencer embraced him slowly relaxes, and immediately his arms come up to gently hold Spencer in return.

“I am.” He murmurs quietly.

Hotch could move, politely back away, and it would be entirely understandable, especially considering that this is now the _second time_ Spencer has jumped the poor man in less than a week. The fact that not only is Hotch not moving away, but he’s actually _hugging_ Spencer back…

Spencer doesn’t know which is more heartbreaking.

 _That_ , or the fact that a part of him doesn’t want to let go.

Not ever.

_Tobias Hankle, that was the last time I hugged him like this._

_Did I love him then?_

_I don’t know._

“ _Breathe_ , Spencer.”

Spencer does just that, and slowly – his deep, labored breaths slow into calmer ones, and he eases his extreme hold on Hotch just a little.

However, his emotional hysteria slowly coming down from its plateau carries with it a clearer mind, and _that_ has its own consequences.

Including awareness; of where he is, what he just impulsively did – _again_ , and the feeling of several pairs of eyes staring at him from all around.

_How can I come back from this now?_

Embarrassment. Humiliation.

_It doesn’t matter._

_Hotch, himself, even Maeve. Right now, none of that matters._

_JJ. Rossi. Alex. **They** are what matter._

_They need me to be focused._

_They were taken because of me._

Shame.

_I’m still holding onto him._

The realization causes Spencer to pull away roughly; residual warmth along his front stark in contrast to the relatively cool air.

Sounds and sights of the room around him slowly come back to him as though waking from a dream; the rustling of paper, the echo of footsteps, ringing of phones, the bright lights humming, and voices talking indistinctly from far and close corners.

Spencer tries to pull himself together as best he can, and turns to face those he can feel standing nearby (while carefully avoiding looking directly at Hotch, yet still agonizingly aware of his presence at his side).

Well, at least the FBI Director isn’t there anymore, although Spencer doesn’t know how long he _hasn’t_ been there.

Otherwise; Emily, Derek, Luke, Tara and Garcia (no longer on the phone) are grouped together between him and the arrangement of desks; silently waiting, allowing Spencer a moment to gather himself.

Spencer is relieved to see they don’t look particularly scandalized or surprised in any way; maybe all they saw was an embrace between two friends.

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter.

As he stares at the people he loves most, he feels the absence of JJ, Alex and Rossi like knives slicing him from the inside.

“What happened?” Spencer asks, angrily wiping away the lingering wetness in his eyes.

And just like that, the atmosphere switches back.

“Not long before your phone call,” Emily steps forward, arms casually crossed and brow tense. “We received notice that the individual watching Rossi had been knocked out, and when he came to, he called it in and when police arrived at Rossi’s home he was gone with no indication of where he went; beyond evidence of a minor struggle.” Emily takes a deep, shaky breath. “Nearly simultaneously Will called, about JJ – said she was just gone. The two of them decided to turn in for an early night, but before that JJ got a call. At the time Will said she seemed fine, just said it was a wrong number. He went up to bed first when she said she wanted to stay up for a while yet and read. Woke up an hour later, and realized JJ hadn’t come to bed. When he searched the house she was gone.” Emily exhales shakily, tears build in her eyes and then she rubs an angry hand across her mouth before turning around to compose herself. Tara reaches out and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“When it was realized they were both missing,” Hotch continues. Spencer turns to face him, again. “A team was sent to Blake’s hotel, where she was also discovered missing, no signs of struggle.”

Their eyes linger for a moment and Spencer shakes away the budding nausea in his gut before tearing his eyes away; ignoring the pained lance in his chest.

“We’re not sure yet about the exact timeline,” Luke adds, and walks over to stand beside Spencer and puts a hand on his shoulder. Spencer finds he is grateful for the comforting touch of his friend. “But we think Rossi was first, then Blake, then JJ.”

“All their phones were left behind, so I couldn’t track them that way. I’m trying to get access to the CCTV footage now.” Garcia calls out from the back.

“Ultimately, they were all taken within a relatively short period of time. Rossi seems to be the only one who was taken by force, Alex and JJ may have been lured out, under threat. We just don’t know yet.” Emily says, having turned back around. Her gaze focuses then on Spencer. “I was about to call you when I – well, everyone received your text.” Her eyes watch him with poorly concealed worry. “The director told me, just before you arrived, that while he normally wouldn’t allow us become involved, certainly not more than we already are due to our connection with…” Emily pauses, the words unspoken yet painfully loud. _The victims._ “However, because he knows there is no way in hell we wouldn’t find some way to help regardless of what he says, the rest can be dealt with later. So, at least we have the lead here.”

_That’s hardly a consolation._

Spencer hasn’t divulged the details of the call yet, wanting to hear what happened before doing so. He already knew Henry and Michael would’ve come to harm if JJ didn’t comply with whoever took her.

“I came as soon as I heard, so did Hotch.” Derek interjects and gestures between them. “We both arrived shortly before you did.” Derek eyes Spencer for a moment, and walks over to stand at his other side. “You ok?” He whispers to him.

Spencer sighs and shakes his head silently, at that Derek leans heavily against his side.

He knows they’re worried, of course. Yet he doesn’t entirely get why they all seem to be this protective of him, Derek and Hotch received flowers too. They’re just as risk as he is.

_You know that’s not entirely true. And they know it too._

_Just not why._

Spencer can’t honestly say he would act any differently in their shoes.

“I know what this is about.” Spencer says suddenly.

Everyone sharply turns to face him.

“What?” Emily.

Spencer looks at Hotch; his brow is drawn in confusion, but that clears a little almost as soon as Spencer meets his eyes.

“Ah.” Hotch mouths silently.

Spencer clenches his hands and turns away.

_You have to tell them._

For once, Spencer agrees with his inner voice.

“Maeve.” Spencer feels Derek stiffen beside him, and other than Tara and Luke, everyone either gasps or stares at Spencer in shock. “I don’t know how but, somehow, this…all this,” Spencer steps forward, out of the protective guardian stances of Luke and Derek, and starts pacing in agitation. “, has to do with her.” Spencer stops when he ends up facing away from everyone, with his hands clinging angrily to his hips and head hanging down Spencer bites his lip to keep from screaming in frustration.

He’s not mad at Maeve; he knows it’s not her fault.

He’s just… _angry_ that this has happened at all, _any_ of it.

Spencer is afraid he won’t be able to fix it.

He didn’t last time.

Spencer breathes deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose.

_Alex…how?_

**_How_ ** _is this related to her?_

_Think!_

“Who’s Maeve?” Tara asks.

Spencer stays quiet.

“Maeve Donovan,” Derek answers, with some hesitation when Spencer doesn’t respond himself.

Hearing her full name spoken by somebody else for the first time in years…it hits him _hard_ , and it _hurts_.

 “She was my girlfriend.” Spencer finishes before Derek can. “She was killed, nearly five years ago, in front of us.” _Of me_.

Step one in learning not to run away, Spencer supposes, whenever possible: be the one to tell your own story.

No matter how much it hurts.

Spencer takes a deep breath and turns around; for once not caring if the others see the tears threatening to spill.

_Or at least, recognizing there are things more important than my sense of dignity._

Everyone is respectfully quiet once he faces them. Tara is horrified, Luke nods with nothing but compassion directed his way. The others, of course knew this, and in deference to him are obviously choosing to remain silent.

Two of them were there when she was killed, Derek and Hotch, and it is to them that Spencer looks now.

There is definitely sadness in their faces, but more than that there is staunch firmness. And that says _“we’re here for you”_

His heart twinges.

 _Where are you Maeve?_   Spencer hasn’t seen her since he left his apartment before coming here. _I can feel you, but I can’t see you._

“I suppose, I should explain myself.”

 

~

 

Spencer has confined himself to the briefing room; only stuttering for a moment when he entered. The memory of _the kiss_ played vividly before his eyes.

He told them everything, about Maeve – _everything_.

Well, _mostly_ everything. As far as Spencer is concerned, his inner turmoil surrounding Hotch, and Maeve, can reside in his head for the rest of his life.

They listened with patience and rapt attention, particularly when he described the phone call, including the clue Alex gave to him.

It was when, despite his many previous assertions to _not_ do so, that he inexplicably found the courage to tell them all about her being his Guardian Angel – _Guiding Spirit_ , that Spencer started to feel nauseas – worrying if they would ask him to explain himself further, in light of some of his behaviour lately.

He was pleasantly surprised however, when they didn’t. Whether it was because they knew it wasn’t the time, or could sense his reticence, Spencer isn’t sure.

They accepted what he told them, and beyond a few knowing looks cast in his direction, they let the matter be – as far as Spencer personally was concerned, otherwise (so far) they only audibly responded to what Spencer told them about the phone call.

It didn’t escape Spencer’s notice however that when he did tell them, none seemed particularly surprised.

As if, on some level, they’d already figured it out.

Spencer didn’t ask.

After he was finished, Emily “suggested” – kindly - that Spencer head into the briefing room and start compiling a board with all the information they have so far and they would follow shortly thereafter.

This is where he is now.

He didn’t call her out on the obvious ploy to get him out of the room, and she knew he saw through it. Quite frankly he didn’t care. Considering what Spencer just told them, he can think of any number of reasons why they would want to talk without him present, his emotional and mental stability for one – it doesn’t matter, there is _no way_ he _isn’t_ helping to find JJ, Rossi and Alex.

And truthfully, after the bombshell of the last few minutes, hell, the last couple of _hours_ , Spencer needs a minute alone.

Spencer couldn’t look Hotch in the eye when he had to pass him on his way to the room.

He of course stopped to check in on the boys, and Will, who moved into Emily’s future office not long after Spencer arrived. Michael was asleep, but Henry was awake and plastered tightly against his father’s side, moving only to squeeze Spencer’s hand when he came close.

It broke his heart, and Spencer _did_ shed a tear when he leaned forward to give Henry a hug. If possible, his determination to find their family amplified in that moment.

Jessica had to leave apparently, but Jack, who was sitting on his father’s old desk, greeted Spencer somberly when he walked in by – to Spencer’s surprise – giving him a hug.

 _I won’t let your father be taken away from you_ , Spencer silently promised the young boy. _Nor you, Hank._ He internally added.

 _Universe,_ _don’t make a liar out of me._

The briefing room table is already littered with paper and pens, pins and tape, dry erasers and markers, and in front of the window Spencer has placed a large white board with similarly sized cork board next to it.

Spencer is currently standing in front of them both, his coat discarded somewhere behind him, and sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he stares at the empty boards with a marker ready in hand.

This is the part Spencer is usually good at, but this isn’t just another case…this, is the difference between life and death, for all of them.

His hand tightens painfully around the bright red marker.

_Think._

Spencer is trying _desperately_ hard to focus on the _facts_ alone, on finding some thread that may end up leading them to their people, which is hard to do when there are niggling thoughts clogging up your mental processes.

Or rather, just _one_ thought that won’t stop spoiling his concentration.

_Your fault. Your fault. All your fault._

Spencer growls. “I _don’t_ have time for this.”

He walks forward and grasping the side of the whiteboard in order to ground himself, he begins listing down _everything_ with manic speed.

He starts with what little they know of the suspects; at least three, two men, one woman (?), woman likely to be leader. No one can capture two current, and one former, FBI agent if they don’t possess some skillsets, criminal or otherwise.

And then he lists the flowers; Coltsfoot and Asphodelus, their meanings and possible locations where they could’ve been acquired – _no, no too many possibilities, not enough time_.

The people they were sent to, when and where.

Why? Spencer writes in bold lettering beside their names; Hotch, JJ, Alex, Rossi, Derek, Spencer.

_“The mother, the sister, the father…The brother, the lover, those last two are tricky.”_

Those words float back to the forefront of his mind, words that woman – whoever she is – uttered indifferently in his ear.

Yet,

_“I’ll tell you what; I’ll give you twenty seconds with the mother.”_

She didn’t give him to JJ, she gave him to Alex.

_Alex._

“Oh…” Perhaps not so indifferent.

Spencer inhales sharply and quickly writes next to each of their names.

Alex – the mother.

Rossi – the father.

JJ – the sister.

 _Which means **they** must be…_ Spencer quickly writes down the next two _,_ hesitating only when he gets to the last one.

Derek – the brother.

Hotch –

_The lover._

Spencer doesn’t write it down.

He knew, Spencer _knew_ he was a focal point – and realizing Maeve is somehow involved has only led credence to that, however this, this indicates obsession.

She’s taunting him, Maeve may be the _motive_ here, but _Spencer_ is the focus of this woman’s wrath.

Spencer couldn’t focus on it at the time, but looking those words she used as title, he realizes what she was doing.

Those are, in basic terms, who they _are_ to Spencer. His _family._ The roles they play in his life.

And this woman, whom he’s never even met, somehow was able to articulate this.

_The lover._

_Shit._

Spencer rears away from the board and when the backs of his knees unceremoniously hit the table he sits heavily down; heart pounding heavily

_Why are they always so…perceptive?_

“She has to have been watching us, me, for a _while_.” Spencer mumbles, wiping away cold sweat with a finger, before standing back up on shaky legs to write that down. “Still, there has to be another reason they were…” It’s not like they are the only people that matter significantly to him, why didn’t the rest get flowers?

And why does Spencer have the feeling he’s missing something blatantly obvious?

_Come on, **think!**_

Spencer is so absorbed; he doesn’t even notice her come in.

“Spencer?”

_Maeve._

He gasps in surprise, drops the marker and curses.

When Spencer looks towards the door, he sees Maeve standing in the archway; looking just as haggard as him, if not more so.

“Sorry I’ve been…” Maeve sighs and walks into the room. “I was here, but – I guess there’s no other word for it, hiding, I suppose?”

Spencer frowns and he watches her with steady eyes as she makes her way over to stand beside him; facing the boards.

“When you said this was about me…” Maeve trails off, confusion evident in her voice.

“You don’t believe me?” Spencer posits and crosses his arms.

Maeve tilts her head. “No, it’s not that. I just couldn’t think of _how_. Of course, that was before out there.” Maeve gestures towards the bullpen.

Spencer stiffens.

_Of course._

“Then you know I-”

“Told them about me?” Maeve quirks a small, melancholy smile in his direction. “Yeah, I heard.” She adds softly. Spencer coughs and shifts awkwardly on his feet, refusing to look at her. He’s not even sure why that particular information bothers him this much, it’s not like it changes anything – not really. “Truthfully,” Maeve continues. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something to them.” She mirrors his position and crosses her arms also.

Spencer hums lowly, not saying that if all this hadn’t happened – he probably never would’ve willingly told anyone.

_Move on._

Spencer groans and rubs his hands over his face; inhaling a deep, fortifying breath before looking at Maeve.

“Do you have any idea how _you_ are connected this?” Spencer asks, pointing at the boards; Maeve turns to stare at the one, barely filled, with a twisted lip and eyes drawn in thought. Spencer watches her intently to observe her reaction. “Is anything about any of it familiar to you? In _any_ way, no matter how small?” _Why didn’t I think to ask her before? Maybe she -_

“No.” Maeve shakes her head, visibly frustrated.

Spencer blinks.

“No?”

Maeve looks at him sadly. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry. If I did I would tell you, I _promise_.”

Spencer bites the inside of his cheek, _hard_ and turns away; ruffling his hair furiously with both hands.

“I’m sorry.” Maeve repeats, softly.

He turns back to her, about to speak, but his jaw clicks shut when he sees Emily, Garcia, Derek and Hotch poised to enter the room.

They’re all clearly trying hard not to be _too_ obvious in their staring at the air around him (except for Hotch; his eyes are fixed with an unreadable look in Spencer’s direction. _Stop it…_ ) now that they know he isn’t just talking to himself.

When Emily opens her mouth with a question in her eyes, Spencer realizes they must’ve overheard some of what he was saying and surmised from there.

He quickly heads her off.

“She doesn’t know.” Spencer says point-blank.

Emily just nods, and gives him a careful smile before entering the room completely.

_This is…so bizarre._

_And not in a good or interesting way._

_At. All._

Spencer’s hands clench tightly when she passes him before taking a seat at the table. Maeve meanwhile doesn’t seem nearly as disturbed as he feels.

_You’re being stupid._

Derek squeezes his shoulder once before taking a seat, and Garcia – well, he can tell she is barely holding in the urge to give him a hug.

Spencer feels bad, but he’s grateful she does restrain herself and merely graces him with a kind nod before taking her spot beside Derek.

As for Hotch, Spencer notices Maeve gaze sharpen when he enters.

Hotch just holds eye contact with him for a moment before sitting down like the others.

_Am I being paranoid or do they seem more…cautious?_

Spencer frowns at the thought and until he is directly addressed, he returns to the board; bending down to finally pick up the marker he dropped.

They don’t, and he blocks out their voices once they start discussing theories behind him, Spencer thinks he hears the sound of paper and something thicker – photographs then, probably copies much like this – being passed around, and someone asking if the DNA results are in yet.

Largely though, Spencer ignores them.

Maeve is an unobtrusive presence for the most part.

_There’s something I’m missing._

_I just know it._

Spencer narrows his eyes at the little information he has.

 _Aaron, Alex, JJ, Rossi, Derek_ …Spencer gasps softly. “Me.” He whispers.

_Oh._

_How did I miss that?_

Spencer closes his eyes.

_They were there._

The memory is always with him, somewhere, and today he feels it clear as the day he lived it.

 

_He’s there, trying to save her, doing everything can –_

_They’re here._

_For a moment he feels relief, its one woman against his team, but then…_

_She has a gun against Maeve’s head, lined up with her own._

_A shot._

_A scream – his scream._

_They all look on in horror as the two women collapse._

_And Spencer’s world dissolves beneath his feet._

 

Spencer is curled in on himself, a tight ball of barely restrained rage _,_ sorrow and _guilt._

_This **is** my fault._

“Spencer?”

“Spencer, what’s wrong?”

Their voices call out to him near simultaneously, Hotch and Maeve, and it is just… _too much_.

Without thinking, Spencer punches the wall closest to him

 _Pain,_ sharp pain lances up his arm; radiating from his hand.

Spencer hears someone wail – it’s _him_ , his voice barely recognizable. But he’s not screaming out of pain.

At least, not physical pain.

_Two lives lost, and now JJ, Rossi and Alex have been…all because I just had to go and fall–_

Before Spencer can punch the wall, hard, again, he feels two different sets of arms pull him away from the wall; holding him tightly against their bodies.

He cries out.

The feeling causes Spencer to come back to himself, at least a little; enough to finally notice the voices of those desperately trying to get his attention.

“Spencer! Spencer it’s alright, just breathe ok?”

“Jesus Spencer…”

“I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“Spencer…”

That last one is Maeve herself.

Still breathing heavily, Spencer looks up to see a horrified looking Maeve staring at him with tears in her eyes.

He clenches his eyes shut and looks away in shame.

Then he remembers the arms holding him, still.

Spencer tries to pull away, the grip tightens slightly.

“Are you going to hurt yourself again?”

Hotch.

Spencer blinks and looks to the man holding his right arm; he actually looks scared, dark eyes pouring deeply into his. Spencer swallows and turns away to his left, it’s Derek; expression almost identical to Hotch’s.

 _I can’t believe I punched a wall, and_ – Spencer looks down at his hand, the tops of his knuckles are scraped and bloody.

Spencer winces.

Even so, the feeling is significantly less painful than where he just was.

_That’s why I punched it._

“No.” Spencer whispers and remains still.

He doesn’t look at either of them, but after a moment they both – slowly – release their hold on him.

For many reasons, Spencer is ashamed and embarrassed with what he just did.

Without looking directly at anyone, Spencer moves around Hotch and Derek to sit at the table.

_Please, please, let this go._

When he takes a seat (forcing his body to not flinch when his sore knuckles brush against the tables edge) everyone else, who had at some point stood up resumes sitting in their chairs.

“Spencer, what just happened?” Emily, sitting across from him, asks.

Spencer shrugs and carefully places his hands on the table; uninjured hand covering his injured one.

“I got angry.”

“No shit.” Derek, sitting on his right, says this without any of his usual humour. “What happened man?”

Spencer resolutely does not answer.

“Spencer.” Hotch; whom he just noticed is now sitting to his immediate left – the side of his injured hand – “Look at your hand.”

Spencer lifts up his uninjured hand to peer closer, and with a slightly clearer head, at the wounds he’d given himself.

They are, quite honestly, horrible.

_Shit._

_At least I didn’t break anything._

_Didn’t even know I could punch that hard._

He flexes his hand, and can’t contain the wince.

Another hand, from his left reaches out and gently touches his wrist; _keep still._

Spencer looks at Hotch when he doesn’t remove his hand.

At that moment Garcia rushes in with the first aid kit in hand. Spencer sighs and reaches out towards a troubled Garcia, she does hand him the kit – gingerly.

He puts it down in front of him and flicks open the lid.

“May I?”

Spencer freezes with his one good, and free, hand in the motion of pulling out antiseptic and doesn’t look at Hotch.

_This is a stupid idea._

_Well, I’m full of them lately aren’t I? Might as well commit._

Spencer, still reeling and overwhelmed from before, gives up. He puts the antiseptic down and pushes the kit towards Hotch and then rests his head in his hand and just stares at the table.

Pretty soon Hotch is going through the process of cleaning and bandaging his hand, if Spencer let himself – he could get lost in the gentle, caring way Hotch is handling wounds Spencer himself created.

Spencer curses himself for his violent loss of control.

_Where did that even come from? Really?_

“Spencer.” It’s Emily again. Spencer looks up at her. She’s fixing him with serious eyes, albeit kind and gentle in their intensity. “I don’t want to insist that you not work on this, but-”

“Then don’t.” Spencer says. Emily opens her mouth to speak again. “You know it won’t make a difference. I’ll still do what I can, and you need me. I have no intent of maiming myself any further.” Spencer says with a gesture towards his snug, but not too tightly, wrapped hand.

Hotch is finished and already putting the materials away.

Spencer and Emily stare unflinchingly at each other for a moment; until finally Emily sighs and backs down with a nod.

Spencer looks at his newly wrapped hand; achieved with an experienced touch and wonders how if Hotch has done this for himself in the past, or for others.

At that moment Tara and Luke walk in, or more like _run_ in.

“We heard-”

“What happened?”

They both call out and come to a panting stop just inside the doorway.

Spencer decides to break the uncertain silence by answering them himself, by lifting up his hand.

“I had a run in with the wall.” He recites without inflection.

They both give him worried looks, and Luke’s eyes dart between Spencer’s battered hand and the scuff marks on the nearby wall with a deep frown.

Fortunately, neither of them comments more on it and they take their own seats.

In the process Spencer notices Maeve is no longer in the room.

Spencer inhales a shaky breath, before gently closing his eyes; effectively blocking out the people around him.

_Breathe. **Think.** Breathe._

_Not about **that.**_

He absentmindedly clutches his injured hand and his brow tenses. That is a pain that cannot be changed, the present, _now_ is what matters most.

_Think about JJ._

_Alex._

_Rossi._

Spencer exhales slowly; the sound of concurrent voices a low hum in his ears as he replays the strongest piece of evidence they have; that phone call.

_She wanted me to say goodbye, the woman…It was the first thing she said to me, “Say Goodbye”_

And then –

_“…Why should I tell you anything? You didn’t say goodbye, not when you could’ve…just like me, this is all because of you Dr. Reid…”_

_Just…like…me._

_Maeve? This person, this woman never got to say goodbye to…Maeve?_

_That would mean…_

_She **knew** Maeve. Of course._

_But…how?_

As far as Spencer knew, _all_ of Maeve’s friends and family were at the funeral; including her parents.

Spencer did go but…he had stayed out of sight, not willing or ready to talk to anyone, especially those that knew her. Regardless, he remembers each of their faces, and none of them match up with what he knows of this woman. Height from the CCTV footage, assuming it’s the same woman – which seems likely, and voice. Every single person at the funeral spoke, and he remembers them all clearly. The voice that spoke to him on that phone, wasn’t there he’s sure of it.

_The way she spoke…_

She could be someone from Maeve’s past.

Someone who only _recently_ found out about Maeve’s death.

_Ok, actions are often just as revealing – if not more so, than words._

_What did she do?_

_She told me to say goodbye, and then…She let me talk to them._

_First JJ, and then Rossi – briefly, and then Alex spoke._

_There wasn’t anything – Wait. There was._

_She let me hear Alex, twice, gave me “extra time” with her._

_Why?_

Spencer freezes as a surge of insight alights in his brain.

His eyes flash open and Spencer _leaps_ out of his chair.

Then, for the first time since her death, Spencer yells for her.

“ _Maeve!_ ”

Everyone around him is visibly startled by his sudden movement and shouting, they all abruptly stop talking and openly stare at him.

“Spencer-”

Someone, he doesn’t know who tries talking to him, but he ignores it. Maeve is not here, and he needs her, _needs_ to ask –

“Maeve! Where are you?” He tries again.

Suddenly, Spencer sees the papers on the table ruffle as though hit by a quick and powerful breeze, the eyes of the others widen.

This happens consecutively with Maeve appearing directly across from him at the other side of the table; her eyes wide and afraid. Not of him, but _for_ him.

Spencer feels only a split second of relief.

“What, what is it? I came as fast as I could, has something-”

“Tell me everything you know about your family, dead, alive anything.” Spencer pants. He places his hands flat on the table and leans forward; still standing. When Maeve looks taken aback by the abrupt question, Spencer feels a twinge of guilt and swallows his impatience. “I’m sorry, please, this could be important.” He adds a bit slower.

To her credit, she doesn’t ask _why_ he wants to know, or how it may be relevant.

Maeve never went into too much detail about her family while they were together, other than cursory mentions of her parents and what Spencer saw at the funeral, it’s all he knows about.

This is probably a long shot, but –

“Well, I told you about my mother and father. My mother was an only child, her parents died before I was even born. My father had a brother, I think I remember him…but he died when I was about five, and he never had any children.” Maeve pauses for a moment; face drawn in thought. “My father’s mother died when he was young, and his father, my grandfather, as far as I know was still alive when I died. I never had any cousins, or, or siblings…” Maeve hesitates, and looks away from Spencer as a shadow falls over her eyes.

_What is she hiding?_

Spencer pushes away from the table and walks around it to be closer to her.

All the while the team watches on with both concern and morbid fascination.

“Maeve.” Spencer utters softly, with his hands out. She looks up at him with tears in her eyes. “Please, I _will_ explain, I promise. The lives of my family could hang on any information you could give me, I need to know.” He can hear how low, and near _pleading_ his voice has become.

He doesn’t care.

Right now, even a potential long lead is still a lead.

Maeve regards him for barely a moment, before steeling herself and nodding firmly.

“I know, and I’ll do everything I can. I just don’t see how this could be related, but if you need to know.” Maeve takes a deep breath and gazes off to the side. “I had a sister.”

Spencer blinks is surprise and his hands fall back to his sides.

“What?” He voices despite himself. _You never told me that._

Maeve sighs. “I never told you about her because…it was so long ago, and it hurt, too – too much.” Maeve folds her arms protectively across her chest and meets his eyes with a years old pain lingering in the lines of her face.

Again, Spencer feels a flash of guilt, for bringing this up – however unknowingly.

“I’m sorry.” He says, meaning it with all his heart.

Maeve just shakes her head. “I was five, when she died. Car accident, two blocks away from home. I arrived back from school and my parents told me what…” Maeve swallows. “She had come home the week before, visiting from college.”

_College?_

“How much older was she?” Spencer asks, as kindly as possible.

“Fifteen years.” Maeve answers without a thought. “I think I, blocked out a lot about her, except for a few things - mostly what I remember now is how she made me feel. I loved my parents, but she…she was my world.” Her eyes clench tightly shut. “I couldn’t understand, for a long time, why she was gone. I took it hard, my parents didn’t even let me go to the funeral because it would be “too hard” for me, they said.” Maeve scoffs coldly, and opens her eyes to some distant memory.

That seems odd to him, her parents not _letting_ Maeve go to the funeral, but then he again he wasn’t there…still; Spencer tags away that information for later.

“I don’t think I ever quite forgave them for that. They just, came home with her ashes and left them on the mantelpiece. She was there for years, and didn’t go into a plot until I left for school.” Maeve anxiously squeezes her shoulders and looks back at Spencer. “That’s it.”

“Alright, thank-you.” Spencer murmurs.

She looks confused, and more than a little haunted, but she just shrugs with a sad smile and says, “Anytime.”

Maeve was young, grieving, and has no reason or room in her heart to suspect that something wasn’t right.

But just hearing the story, something feels… _off_ about it to him – even though Spencer knows he has no logical reason yet to doubt its validity.

The woman he spoke with _did_ sound older than him - maybe late forties, or early fifties. Judging someone’s age from voice alone is sketchy at best however.

And it could just as easily be someone else, but – as Spencer said, even a long shot lead is still a lead, and sometimes the most unlikely solutions are the answers.

At the very least it can’t hurt to investigate, even if they are just treading water.

Spencer’s mind moves quickly through the information as he turns to face the speechless and confused faces of the team.

They’re all obviously waiting for some kind of explanation.

“I was asking Maeve some questions about her family.”

“Why?” Luke asks.

Some of the others though, including Garcia, look thoughtful.

Spencer doesn’t leave them wondering however, and explains what Maeve told him concurrent with his thought process that led him to this supposition.

Firstly, that this woman is a member of Maeve’s family from her past – that hadn’t had contact with her for a significant period of time, even before her death, which could explain why this is just happening _now_ , and not immediately following Maeve’s death.

Information about who exactly was present during what happened isn’t exactly highly classified, and if one were to have enough motivation in finding out, whether through news reports or otherwise, it wouldn’t be impossible.

One way or another, she obviously found it – since the only people targeted, are those who were present at that time.

Secondly, this woman is the chief instigator in all this. The men assisting her are likely little more than hires.

She obviously blames Spencer for Maeve’s death – Spencer doesn’t say that he blames himself as well – and seemingly the others too, for not doing (in her eyes) enough.

Thirdly, Spencer shares the way this woman let him speak with JJ, Rossi and Alex – when he explains the emphasis on roles as important to this woman, as evident by her language, Spencer can see he isn’t the only one coming to the same conclusion he did, before he’s even done explaining.

The role of sister, but especially mother – for whatever reason – holds special significance to her.

Family.

She kept repeating, _say goodbye, you didn’t say goodbye…just like me._

And when Spencer tells them the details of what Maeve told him about her sister, he could see a few of them with raised eyebrows.

There’s no one in this room that doesn’t have good instincts and/or intuition.

The lofty theory goes unspoken, but Spencer can see they’re all thinking it.

That the woman responsible, for all this, could somehow be – _Maeve’s sister_. It is important however not to jump conclusions, as Hotch says, and Spencer does agree. They need to find out more information before they go down that particular rabbit hole and end up wasting precious time.

When he’s done talking, Spencer finally notices Maeve has wandered away from his side – although not leaving the room entirely.

She looks positively _sick_ , with one hand covering her mouth and the other clutching at her shirt covered stomach.

_Damnit._

Spencer chastises himself fiercely as he watches her carefully.

_I just recited, all that, in front of her._

Spencer makes an aborted move forward, but what can he do?

“We should-” Emily starts to say.

She is, out of the blue, interrupted by Garcia when the woman jumps out of her chair; phone in hand.

“Oh! Hold on, wait!” Garcia exclaims loudly, everyone turns to look at her as she quickly taps a few buttons on her phone.

Except Spencer, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Maeve; his hand clenched tightly on the back of an empty chair in front of him.

He doesn’t notice how Hotch is watching him, perhaps just as carefully, as Spencer is watching Maeve.

“I just got pinged, could be very important – don’t do anything until I get back! Won’t be long!” Without another word, Garcia runs out of the room.

Everyone is a bit stunned, but Spencer decides to take the opportunity of her brief absence.

“I’ll be right back.” Spencer says without looking at anyone. He goes over to Maeve.

She looks up at him with haunted eyes when he gets close. “Walk with me?”

She doesn’t say anything, just nods.

Spencer then leaves the room as well, but doesn’t go far, just enough to be out of direct earshot.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer says quietly, when he stops and turns to face Maeve. She just stares at him. “About…” Spencer looks and gestures back towards the room, shifting uneasily on his feet. “It was insensitive.”

Maeve shakes her head. “Give the situation, it’s understandable. I’m not mad.”

Spencer frowns on a loud exhale and looks down. “Alright.”

The faces of JJ, Rossi and Alex are never far away.

Neither are the ones of Derek, and…and Hotch.

She wants them too. And this woman obviously wants to make him suffer, and she has clearly figured out the best way to do that is not by taking him directly – but by punishing those he loves most.

_I don’t believe in God, but please just…let them be alright. If there is anyone or anything out there, let them be alright._

“Spencer please, don’t, don’t blame yourself.” Maeve whispers. “All of this, is because of me. Not you.”

 _That_ makes Spencer balk and look at her in disbelief.

“ _How?_ You’re a victim in this; you didn’t cause or ask for any of this to happen.”

Maeve narrows her eyes. “And you did?”

“Of course not!” Spencer gesticulates with his hands. _Never._

“Then _how_ , in what universe, is what happened _your_ fault?”

“I’m supposed to predict outcomes and come up with solutions that work, I miscalculated, and I failed. Then and now.” Spencer grits angrily through this teeth, eyes hot. “I gave in to my selfish want, and we’re _still_ paying the price.”

Maeve’s gapes at Spencer; completely incredulous. “What-”

“ _I fell in love with you!_ ” Spencer growls severely; heart beating angrily in his chest. Maeve’s mouth parts; face practically drenched in sorrow. “And you died, because of me. Now my, my family might die too because-” Spencer shakes his head and cuts himself off. Unable to look at her he turns away and covers his eyes.

If Spencer is self-pitying, he doesn’t mean to, but how can this _not_ be his fault?

_This, all this, is on me._

They all have children, JJ, Alex, and Rossi’s daughter may be grown, but the pain of losing a beloved parent is timeless.

Spencer could not live with himself if his weaknesses led to…

_Fuck._

“Spencer no, no, please, please _stop_ this. You’re not the only one who-”

But Spencer, having held it in, all of it, for _so_ long can’t hear her beyond the roaring in his head and biting guilt ridden fear eating him alive.

This is why he’s cursed.

All breath and energy leaves his body and he sags against the wall. “Do you see now?” Spencer utters in a heartbreaking murmur and looks at Maeve with long-suffering tears threatening to fall. “Why I can never again act on my feelings, why I can never tell-” _Aaron._ Spencer bites his lip. Maeve looks wrecked. “The consequences are too high.”

“For others or for yourself?” Maeve whispers, not unkindly.

Spencer swallows.

“Both.” He looks down, cursing when he sees a tear finally fall.

“Spencer, there will always be consequences – no matter what we do. You can’t let that-”

“Spencer?”

Maeve abruptly stops speaking when Emily calls for him.

_Shit._

Spencer uselessly tries to wipe tears away from his eyes as he lifts his head.

Maeve calmly side-steps out of the way.

“Yes?” His voice comes out all wrong; guttural and thick.

Emily hesitates when she notices his red, exhausted face. “Garcia needs to talk with us, it’s important.” She states quietly.

“Ok.” Spencer nods, and braces himself, moving to head back to the room.

“Spencer.”

Emily stops him when he tries to pass her.

_Please don’t say anything._

Maeve stands in front of him, looking if anything like she badly wants to be able to hug him.

“Spencer.” Emily repeats, softly.

It’s when he feels Emily’s comforting hand on his shoulder, combined with Maeve being right…there, that causes him to break.

He cries and collapses sideways.

Immediately he feels strong arms, Emily’s arms, gather him close and hug him tightly.

_I don’t deserve this comfort, but…I_

Spencer clutches tightly to her shirt, unable to resist the urge.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright.” Emily murmurs softly into his hair and begins gently stroking his back.

“No.” Spencer fiercely denies. “My fault,” He sniffles. “All my fault. They’re gone because of me.”

“There is a room behind us, full of people who will happily deny that.”

He shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter.” He mumbles brokenly.

Spencer feels her sigh.

“Maybe not, but that won’t stop us from loving you, and supporting you, no matter what you believe about yourself.” Emily gives him a tight squeeze, and his heart aches. “You are not at fault for events beyond your control that you could _never_ have predicted – even with that genius mind of yours.”

Spencer feels the slight smile in her voice at the end there.

He lifts his head away from Emily’s shoulder, and sees Maeve standing directly in his line of sight.

She is nodding and crying, auburn hair beautifully framing her face, though there are no tears. And like days before, when he was with Hotch, Maeve crosses her arms over heart and hugs, looking at him pointedly.

_I love you. I support her. Listen to her._

His lips quirk, but there is little more than grief in his expression.

It isn’t more than a few seconds before he starts to feel uncomfortable, and extremely self-conscious.

Spencer pulls away from Emily, and she lets him go.

The thing is, he knows she’s right. Logically, Spencer does realizes from a factual standpoint everything Emily said is true - but there is a missing link between rational mind and his emotions that he can’t seem to find a bridge between.

When Spencer looks and sees the overwhelming compassion on her face, shame floods his own and he turns away.

Emily doesn’t stop him when he decides to pass her this time.

He can sense both her, and Maeve, standing on either side of him as he heads back to the room.

“Can you handle this? Be honest.” Emily asks, firm but not without understanding.

Spencer sighs.

_Honestly?_

“No, but I have to.”

 

A minute later, Spencer and Emily re-enter the room with only him being the only one aware that Maeve is following close behind.

He notices heads turn in their direction, Hotch is the closest – and he is eyeing Spencer with obvious concern. However, what Spencer sees most predominately is Garcia; standing at the head of table, holding a file and the remote in her hands, her face…ghostly white.

_Oh no._

The sight has Spencer’s immediate attention, trepidation quickly floods his system.

The others look just as apprehensive as he feels.

Obviously Garcia hasn’t yet divulged whatever it is that has disturbed her this much, waiting on them to be here.

“What’s going on? Garcia?” Emily asks, voice grave, as she goes back to her own chair.

Garcia opens her mouth, but seems to hesitate for a moment before looking down and adjusting her grip on the file and remote with trembling fingers.

“I’ve been cashing in favours this week, trying to get the DNA results back ASAP.” Garcia starts. “Trying _anything,_ and all possible avenues available to me to speed this along.” Garcia slowly puts the file down on the table, touching it once before clutching her hands around the remote as she gazes over them; listening to her intently. “Well, I got the results – that’s what that was before,” Garcia gestures towards the door. “On their own, the results don’t match anyone in our system-” Garcia breathes in unsteadily.

Spencer tilts his head and scowls.

_On their **own?** What does that mean…?_

Spencer can tell he isn’t the only one who caught on to her choice of words.

“-And…” Garcia trails off as she looks around, stopping when she spots him. Spencer looks at her in confusion. _Why is she…_ “Just a sec.” Garcia quickly says with a pointed finger to everyone, picks up the file and rounds the table towards him.

“What-”

“Wait.” Garcia whispers to him when she reaches his side, immediate motioning him out of the room.

_Out of earshot?_

Still confused over what this could be about, Spencer nevertheless follows.  The others appear just as mystified as he is.

And sure enough, the second they’re far enough from the room where no one within can hear them, Garcia rounds on him.

“Are we alone?” She asks.

Spencer tilts his head. “Alone…?”  Garcia pointedly waves her hand in the air around him. Oh. She must mean Maeve. Spencer glances around, he does see Maeve – but she’s remained in the briefing room doorway; watching from a distance like everyone else. Spencer turns back to Garcia. “Yes? What is this about-”

“When I got the DNA results back, I noticed that while there was no one in our database with that _exact_ DNA profile – we did get a match.” Garcia holds out the file towards him, her hands much steadier than before but her face is still pinched with distress.

_They got a match, but no one…oh._

Spencer blinks. “Is it…?”

Garcia swallows; her face – if possible – loses a little more blood.

“Read the file Spencer, with her – alone.” She whispers.

His heart climbs sharply; dread making his fingertips cold as he reaches for the file.

If the results are what he thinks they are, Spencer can’t imagine it would make Garcia react quite this strongly…that is, unless there’s something else.

“Alright.” He nods and takes the file firmly.

Garcia releases it and gives him a solemn nod before walking past him and back to the room.

Spencer glances back at Maeve over his shoulder, when he catches her eye he motions to Hotch’s – _Emily’s_ , office with a slight nod.

Her eyes flash in confusion for only moment before immediately following him. When she’s at his side, Spencer distantly hears Garcia begin to speak and he assumes she’s relaying to the team what she found.

In less than a minute Spencer has guided Maeve into the office and closed the door behind them.

“Spencer, what’s going on?” She asks quietly, watching him with careful eyes when Spencer walks to the other end of the room with the file.

_I have to open it._

_What if you don’t like what you see?_

_It doesn’t matter; I still have to open it._

All Spencer can hear is his pulse thudding loudly in his head as he takes a deep breath, and flips open the folder; there before him is a printed copy of the results, with – oddly enough – a few other papers behind it.

Spencer inhales sharply when he sees the name, but feels downright sick when he reads the rest.

_Oh god._

_I wanted a lead, but this…_

_It has to be her, has to be, she told me she sent the flowers – it had to have been her blood._

Spencer wants to vomit.

“Spencer! What is it?”

_Oh, Maeve. How can I tell you…this?_

No matter how wrecked Spencer feels in general, he knows for Maeve it is about to get much, much worse.

_There are things worse than death._

It’s easy now to figure out why Garcia suggested he be in here, alone, with Maeve when he found out.

“Garcia didn’t want you to hear this from her, in front of everyone. She thought it would be easier coming from me.” Spencer doesn’t how anything would make this easier to hear.

Spencer quickly flips the file shut and turns slowly to face Maeve.

“Spencer, you’re scaring me.” Maeve is clutching herself, meeting his gaze with wide anxious eyes.

Spencer breathes in deep. “The DNA results we got back from the blood on the notes, which I am fairly certain were written by…by the woman responsible here,” He walks closer to Maeve. She flicks uneasy eyes towards the closed file in her hands. “There was only one match in the system. Your own.”

Maeve stills. “…What?”

“You share approximately 63% of your DNA with her.”

Maeve doesn’t respond for a moment, completely stiff and unmoving as she stares forward; eyes foggy.

Something horrible twists his insides.

As a Geneticist, Spencer knows he won’t have to clarify what those numbers mean.

_This woman is likely Maeve’s biological first cousin…and mother._

And, Spencer suspects – if possible, to make the implications of _that_ even worse – it could be that this very woman is the one Maeve called sister for the first five years of her life, before being told she died in a car accident – a lie, if he is right.

Maeve’s form suddenly ripples like a flicker of light as she collapses onto her knees; her shaking hands come up to cover her face frozen in shock.

Spencer immediately drops the file and falls to his knees in front of her, never wishing more in this moment that he could physically comfort her.

There are tears in his own eyes as he watches Maeve, his hand raised somewhat awkwardly towards her.

For a moment his fingers brush against – through her arm. The cruelty of not being able to hold her, especially when it seems death itself couldn’t prevent another bombshell from being dropped, is eclipsed by the cruelty that brought Maeve to this moment.

No matter that this discovery answers a few questions, including the motivation behind this woman’s actions and behaviour, the many more questions that arise as a result of this feel infinite.

And none of their answers can be good ones.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Spencer whispers. They are shallow, inadequate words. He so much wants to do more, but is there an adequate comfort to combat something like this?

Maeve doesn’t respond, her hands completely covering her faces now as head hands; chin to chest. She is silent in a way that genuinely scares him.

If the universe brought her back into his life as his Guiding Spirit, _just_ for _this_ …that just seems like an unimaginable cruelty.

Without knowing what else to do, Spencer sits with her and waits.

A few minutes pass before there’s a knock on the office door.

Spencer hesitates for a moment, glancing at Maeve (about 30seconds ago her hands came to rest in her lap, her face devoid of any emotion as she just _stares_ at her hands) before uncurling himself and standing up.

He opens the door a sliver –

“Oh, um,” Spencer mumbles a bit nervously and pulls the door open all the way.

Hotch is standing there with a serious, carefully controlled expression, but the darkness in his eyes and tightness of his brow leave Spencer with little doubt that yes, Garcia must’ve told them.

It is a sick and unfortunate truth that this isn’t the first time something like this has cropped up in their line of work, quite the opposite.

Spencer hates it.

When Hotch opens his mouth, presumably to tell Spencer they need him now – at least, that’s what Spencer is assuming, Spencer holds up a hand.

“I know, I know I’m coming – I just, it didn’t seem right to leave her like…” Spencer trails off and glances back towards Maeve; completely retreated into herself. He’s torn, but ultimately, the lives of his family take precedence.  “I’m on my way now, we should-”

“Spencer.” Hotch holds up a hand to stop him, much like Spencer just did. Spencer’s jaw clicks shut and he stares at Hotch. The urge to hold him again is surprising in its strength, Spencer is beyond exhausted and as much as he would love to just _fall_ into the man’s arms and sleep for years, he can’t – ever. Spencer doesn’t even have enough energy to care about the romantic nature of the fantasy, an indulgence he normally wouldn’t allow himself to have.  “You don’t need to explain.” Hotch continues.

Spencer balls a fist in his pocket, and with his free hand he takes a hold of the door arch; bracing.

“We _all_ understand.” Hotch says, gentle and earnest as he catches Spencer’s eyes when they start to drift away. “How are you? Both of you?”

Spencer sighs brokenly at the questions and looks at Maeve over his shoulder.

She hasn’t moved beyond now holding her head silently in her hands.

In regards to her, Spencer answers. “I don’t know.”

When he looks back at Hotch, the man nods in understanding and moves aside to let him pass.

Not once do his eyes leave Spencer.

Spencer exits the room, but pauses to again look back.

“Maeve-” He calls out, quietly.

“It’s fine.” She swiftly interrupts him, breathing erratically and startling Spencer at hearing her voice. “Go. I don’t think I’ll be, um, going anywhere anytime soon. I…I need to think, and you need to get your family back from my-” Maeve shakes her head and whimpers, not _once_ looking at him.

She’s right.

Right now, as much as it hurts – this, _Maeve_ , is something he can’t change or do anything about, but the others…he can, and _will_ save – there is simply no other option.

Ideally, Spencer would rather not leave her like this, but _none_ of this is anywhere _close_ to ideal.

Spencer sighs. “Alright.” He murmurs.

Maeve still doesn’t look at him, but she does nod.

And with that, Spencer walks away and back to the briefing room. He senses Hotch following.

The truth is, and Spencer has some seriously mixed emotions over it, as shocking and sickening this discovery of Maeve’s parentage is – in this instance it could potentially be the information that will lead them to their people, and Spencer can’t regret that if it ends up saving their lives.

Spencer isn’t sure which is worse, the possibility that all this  - Maeve showing up, in concurrence with this woman, Maeve’s mother and cousin, taking out her anger and pain out on the team – is coincidence, or providence.

“And you?”

It takes Spencer a moment to parse what Hotch is asking.

_Ah, right. How am I?_

At this point, Spencer is seriously considering just wearing a shirt that says “not ok” so he’ll never have to answer that question again.

“I’ll survive.”

By the silence, Spencer gets that Hotch isn’t exactly _happy_ about the answer but understands.

They reach the doorway.

The first thing Spencer notices is that Garcia is sitting down, and the DNA results are now laid out on the screen.

He feels that Hotch is standing a bit closer than usual, but can’t afford to pay it any mind.

When they enter the room, all eyes turn in his direction.

The question is there on all their faces.

“She’s not here, and how would _you_ be?” He didn’t mean it to sound so defensive, and immediately winces.

No one appears to have taken offense though.

Once Spencer and Hotch sit down, everyone immediate begins planning their next move.

Namely; finding out more information about this woman and if she _is_ indeed the woman Maeve knew as her sister, which could possibly make her easier to find, which is – as Spencer already noted to himself – a very good thing.

However, she used her _own blood_ to write the notes. She _had_ to have known it would make it easier to find her.

This is a woman with nothing left to lose.

And in all their collective experience, a person with nothing left to lose is often the most dangerous.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

 

_And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive._

_You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over._

_But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in._

_That’s what this storm’s all about._

_~ Haruki Murakami_

 

 

 

Her name is Abitha Donovan.  Or rather, it _was_ , when she was born to Mr. and Mrs. Donovan on April 31st 1968.

If the dwindling turned to a complete _lack_ of information revealed past the time when she disappeared is any indication, she probably assumed a new identity – which they have yet to find.

When they investigated Maeve’s “sister”, finding her records took little time in the hands of Penelope Garcia, it became quickly apparent that they were right to do so.

A single photograph, and luck, proved Abitha Donovan is their primary suspect.

Along with her birth certificate, they found an old newspaper article about Dr. Donovan the Geneticist and her family (It was dated many years before Maeve was born); on her right a tall man had his arm wrapped gently around her, and to the left, there was a little girl in pigtails holding her hand.

Her eyes…were Maeve’s.

Spencer seriously believed he would’ve thrown up if Hotch hadn’t been at his side when they found it.

The photograph also revealed something else.

There, on the neck of little girl Abitha Donovan, was a small bean-shaped birthmark.

Even when taking into account the decades of time that have passed, the mark matched that of the woman they saw in the CCTV footage of Spencer’s apartment.

With that discovery, came two others.

Maeve, and Abitha, did indeed have an Uncle.

The father’s brother, he died shortly before Abitha disappeared. Cause of death listed as: sustained a traumatic head injury caused by a fall down the stairs in his home; DOA.

The timing was too close to be coincidence.

It wasn’t long after his death that Abitha Donovan appeared to vanish.

She never went back to college, or work.

There was no death certificate.

No missing person’s report.

She was just gone.

Either she left of her own volition, and the parents were aware of it. Or they didn’t know, and didn’t care.

Spencer can’t think of another reason for them _not_ to file a missing person’s report.

Unless, and this occurred to him after reading about the Uncle – Abitha was responsible for his death, ran away, and the parents knew but never reported her.

It is just one of many question they have yet to answer.

Spencer can’t say his opinion of Maeve’s “parents” is all that good right now; their actions do not sit well with him in the slightest. Not only in the way they lied to Maeve, but their daughter fell pregnant when she was _fourteen_. Among other things, they had to at _least_ suspect something was wrong.

He may not yet have all the pieces, but Spencer is trying to prepare himself for the very real possibility that the Donovan’s were complicit or bystanders in all this.

It has not been a good night, for any of them.

Any information they gleaned about Abitha, seemed to stop there and it was weighing on _everyone_ that nothing was happening.

Their lead seems to be growing cold as each hour passes, and there has been no contact from her or her accomplices since Spencer was called.

And with each passing minute, JJ, Rossi and Alex feel further and further away.

Coming to the conclusion that their missing people are unlikely being held _far_ away hasn’t helped at all. Police searches in their areas have revealed nothing, and there are far too many possible options at this point for where they could be held. If Abitha’s vendetta is with Spencer and she has further intentions with the others, remaining close – especially while holding three people, would be more logical for her.

But again, just knowing that, does _not_ help when they _can’t find them._

It is late morning now. And no one has gotten any sleep. None of the team went home, including Derek. Savannah and Hank had apparently gone to stay with her parents a few states over when the others were kidnapped, while Derek elected to remain behind and help in any way he could. While Spencer can see that he doesn’t necessarily regret his decision, it is weighing on him – not being with his family.

A further part of the reason why Hotch and Derek in particular are choosing to stay is because, no matter how much Spencer tries to _not_ think about it, they are probably her next step along the goal of making Spencer experience the ultimate suffering.

And that will undoubtedly happen if they fail.

Neither Will nor the kids, Jack as well (not wanting to leave his father’s side), have left either; for now choosing to remain sequestered in one the BAU offices for safety.

Additionally, Spencer has only seen Maeve once since… _since._

He can’t exactly blame her for choosing to remain distant after that.

To put all this in two words; they’re stuck.

Late morning is dangerously close to fading into afternoon, a reminder of how much time has passed (too much).

There are yawns, and wrinkled, tired faces all around. Most hold in their hands some sort of caffeinated beverage, anything keep themselves awake and sharp. If they don’t find something soon however, they will have no choice but to sleep or else fall dead on their feet.

Spencer will never be able to sleep knowing three of their family are out there; he will literally have to pass out before he willingly wastes any time sleeping right now.

And so, Spencer sits at his desk; currently trying to see if he can find any information on who might be working with her. Much to his rising agitation and despair, it has been rather fruitless. Without having discernable filters to narrow his search, the pool of potential accomplices is extremely wide to say the least.

Right now he is looking through a list of men in the past five years who hold a particular grudge against the FBI, emphasis on criminal pairs, still living, either not in prison or released within that time frame, their known whereabouts etc. Perhaps Abitha found people who hold a grudge against them as well; it would certainly make her job easier. Even so, that list is not exactly _short_ – even with his enhanced reading ability.

During the past several hours, unless someone has approached him directly Spencer has largely blocked out everything happening around him.

It’s only when Spencer has gotten up to get coffee – of which there are at least a dozen cups of, some empty, some not, littered all over his desk – that he has moved away from his desk.

Spencer hasn’t even eaten.

Well, that’s not exactly true.

Spencer curses the yawn that escapes him, and props his head up via fisted hand. This puts him in line of sight with his empty plate from just over an hour ago.

Even with hope diminishing by the hour, Spencer’s lips twist into a small smile at the memory.

 

_Someone went out and brought food for everyone; a slew of sandwiches mostly, nothing that would take long to eat._

_Spencer didn’t really look all that closely, barely taking note of the team and some other people that walked by him to the table that the food had been on._

_Spencer yawned and leaned back in his chair._

_If there was one positive to be found in this, it is that through sheer exhaustion and focus on his task, he hadn’t found time to think or focus on anything or **anyone** else._

_Spencer didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes, not sleeping – just thinking, when he heard a small cough._

_When Spencer jumped a bit in surprise, he looked over to see a slightly apologetic looking Jack._

_“Sorry Spencer.”_

_Spencer shook himself and sat more securely in his chair._

_“No worries Jack, what is it?” He turned to face the young boy._

_Jack smiled a little then and lifted up something Spencer only just noticed was in his hand; a plate of food; one sandwich, and a small pile of baby carrots._

_“For you.” Jack nudged the plate in Spencer’s direction._

_That was…unexpected._

_Spencer frowned, yet inside his heart plunked with warmth with the kind gesture._

_He didn’t exactly have an appetite at that moment, but this was... “Um…”_

_“Please?” Jack insisted, practically **pushing** the plate at Spencer._

_Spencer took his eyes off the plate and looked at Jack._

_With an unwavering stare to challenge even that of his fathers, Spencer soon gave in and took the offered plate._

_He smiled, and nodded. “Thank-you, Jack.”_

_Jack grinned. “You’re welcome.”_

_After that the young boy, almost a teenager actually, bounded away._

_Spencer looked back down at the sandwich; tomatoes, swiss cheese and sprouts by the look of it._

_Might as well, he thought. No matter his lack of desire for food, Spencer knew he should probably eat for his body’s sake._

_He was about to pick it up, but then he noticed Jack come to a stop in front of Hotch – who had been standing near the table._

_“I did it!” Jack told him, a touch loudly – hence Spencer was able to hear._

_Spencer frowned, wait a minute…_

_Hotch grinned faintly and said something that looked like “good”, and then ruffled his son’s hair, Jack quickly sidestepped the affection with an irritated huff._

_Did he just-?_

_At that point Hotch looked up and met Spencer’s eyes._

_Spencer narrowed his eyes and gestured with the plate._

_Hotch, the manipulative bastard (knew I probably would’ve denied the food if he, or any of the team really, had brought it to me), nodded with a shrug._

_Spencer made a show of snorting; appearing nothing more than annoyed when he turned around in his desk chair._

_Of course, the second Hotch couldn’t see his face; Spencer felt more warmth flood his cheeks – much to his mortification, and his previous expression melted away._

_“Stop it.” Spencer muttered inaudibly to himself as he picked up his sandwich – slyly given._

_Only he immediately dropped it back onto the plate with a small gasp of surprise._

_Maeve appeared, standing on the other side of his desk._

_She still seemed very subdued, albeit less…shaken than she had been before. It was hard to get a good read on what she was thinking, let alone feeling. Maeve was surprisingly adept it seemed at hiding herself when she wanted to._

_Spencer half-wondered if he should…say something, but ultimately decided against it. If she wanted to bring it up, fine, but Spencer wouldn’t be the one to broach the subject._

_This was the first time he saw her in hours, since –_

_“You’d make a good father.”_

_Spencer blinked in shock._

_Well, he certainly wasn’t expecting her to say **that.** Where did it even come from?_

_He stared at her incredulously._

_“What?”_

_Maeve finally met his eyes; they were nothing but genuine, even if her overall countenance was largely veiled._

_“I’ve watched you, with Henry, Michael, Jack…” Maeve trailed off, a faint smile lifting her lips for only a second. “You don’t patronize them; you listen, and treat them as equals. Trust me; kids appreciate than more than you’d think.”_

_The whole conversation felt exceedingly surreal. Spencer had really no idea what to say to that. He frowned and looked down at his desk, cheeks blushing._

_I thought about having kids with you one day, probably wouldn’t have been a good thing to say._

_The memory made him ache inside._

_In truth, Spencer has always wanted to be a father. But, with his family history and the job, it never became a priority or a possibility. Eventually, he had come to accept it might never happen._

_If a godfather was all Spencer would be in his life, he could live with that – happily._

_“It’s ironic, isn’t?” Maeve mutters. Spencer didn’t look at her; it didn’t feel like she was even speaking to him. “I am – was, a Geneticist, and I never even knew my own…heritage.” The word left her mouth with something akin to resigned sorrow._

_Spencer’s frown deepened, and then he lifted his head._

_But she was gone again._

_Spencer sighed and returned to his sandwich._

Spencer pulls away from the memory when he notices Hotch and Derek entering the room together.

Not necessarily unusual, but it’s the look on _both_ their faces that catches Spencer’s attention; grave and resolute.

The lines of his brow tense and his eyes narrow.

_What –_

“Everyone?” Hotch calls out.

The bullpen abruptly becomes silent. All team members are currently in the room, looking over at Derek and Hotch with expressions very similar to Spencer’s own.

_I don’t have a good feeling about this._

Spencer swallows and nervously stands up.

“We have a plan.” Derek announces.

_Scratch that, I have a **very** bad feeling about this._

~

 

 

A few hours later, and the inside of Spencer’s mind has been reduced to a constant repeat of the same conversation with himself over, and over again.

_I hate this, this is insane, I hate this, for the love of – why the **hell** are we doing this?_

_You know why. We don’t have a choice._

_I still hate it._

When Derek and Hotch had said “we have a plan”, Spencer didn’t realize how _bad_ it was going to be.

 

_Hotch was the one to chiefly relay their plan to the room, after Derek’s pronouncement caused Emily to walk up to the two of them and say, desperately, “we’ll take any suggestions”._

_“If we had more time, we could probably find a better solution, but time is running short and we need to act now.” Derek said first._

_Hotch nodded. “We need to throw her off, take control of the situation by giving her what she wants on **our** terms.”_

_Spencer stumbled a little and quickly reached out to balance himself with one hand on his desk; his breath left him._

_He could already see where this was going._

_Before he could rationally think it through, the protest was out._

_“No.”_

_Spencer wasn’t sure if Hotch heard him, even if he did Spencer doubts it would’ve mattered._

_Hotch clarified his statement. “She, or at least her accomplices are probably watching us, if the preparation needed to have gotten this far shows anything it is that.” Hotch breathes steadily. “Morgan and I go out, alone, and make it convincing enough – perhaps pretend to be following a lead on the case, and just maybe – we’ll get taken. However, we’ll go out with trackers hidden somewhere on our person.”_

_“And hopefully, get driven directly to the others, with you guys following.” Derek finishes with his arms severely crossed._

_Hands in his pockets, Hotch nodded in response._

_Hopefully?_

_Hopefully?!_

_There were some objections from the others, no one was exactly eager to for all intents and purposes – hand Hotch and Derek **over** to her._

_Spencer gritted his teeth and walked closer to the group gathered in front of Hotch and Derek._

_Spencer didn’t want to believe this was the best solution. He hates the part of his mind that rationalizes; despite the high risks involved, this seems to be our only choice. How can we not take it?_

_The very idea of sending them into her hands, when she could kill them, using them as **bait** …it made Spencer feel nauseas and even more terrified than he already was._

_I can’t lose anyone._

_Spencer took advantage of Hotch not facing his direction in order to just…look at him._

_I don’t think I’ll live through another “Maeve”_

_Nobody looked happy with the plan, but Spencer could see them coming around – and dread settled deeply in his stomach._

_“This is insane! What’s to say she won’t figure it out?”  The words were out before he could stop them._

_They certainly heard him then._

_Everyone turned to look at him._

_Spencer was about to speak again when Hotch effectively silenced him with a stern, yet genuinely sympathetic look._

_“I don’t like it either.” Hotch spoke to everyone, but his eyes remained on Spencer. “It was my first choice, but we don’t have time for another one.”_

_Spencer gulped. “You could be killed.” His voice broke._

_Hotch took a step in his direction. “We could, but if we don’t do something they could **all** be killed.” He uttered softly and fixed knowing, determined eyes on Spencer._

_Emotions far too familiar, far too close to painful memory, rage through him. When he came to everyone, desperate to find Maeve because he was sure something was wrong. They tried so hard to find her._

_They did._

_But she was killed in the process._

_Spencer screamed inside, fighting images of Maeve lying in a pool of blood._

_I can’t do this again…_

_Outwardly however, Spencer clenched his jaw and looked away from Hotch._

_Because, no matter how much every fibre of his being **hated** every inch of this plan, it is ironically, their best one. Whatever fears and hang-ups he had about it – Spencer couldn’t let those fears draw out what could be their best chance to save their people._

_However much of a gamble it is._

They’re all currently gathered in Garcia’s room; eyes glued to the screens in front of them, and ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

On one screen, there is a map with two, blinking red dots. The rest, show the multiple camera angles available.

They’d situated Hotch and Derek in a somewhat obscure area of town, not far from Spencer’s apartment building, under the pretense of interviewing people on the street to see if they’d seen anything unusual lately, the same car showing up in recurring spots etc., with instructions to stay within a five block radius. At the borders of which undercover police will be waiting if needed.

Garcia has total control of the CCTV at present, switching camera views like a maniac whenever Hotch and Derek move to a new area within the designated area.

Spencer has one hand braced on the wall, staring with unblinking eyes at the multiple computer screens on the wall, and trying so hard to stay _calm._

The presence of his fellow team doesn’t help in the slightest. They’re all here for the same thing.

Staring at Hotch and Derek from the view of cameras - _away from them_ , and waiting for them to get _kidnapped._

No one likes this.

It’s been more than 30minutes.

 

_Not long after the plan began implementation, Derek approached Spencer out in the hallway by the elevators; where Spencer had been pacing anxiously for the past ten minutes, after managing to slip away from the rest of them._

_“Spencer?” Derek called out to him._

_Spencer froze at the sound of his voice; facing away._

_“Yes? Does the team need me?” Spencer responded quietly, without turning around._

_“No yet, man. I came to talk to **you.** ” Derek was right behind him them._

_“Why?” Spencer turned around then to face him._

_Oh god why, Spencer cursed inwardly. I can’t do this now. I need to find a way, anyway, to be…ok with this, I can’t risk everyone’s lives if I end up making a mistake because I can’t –_

_“Hey.” Derek reached out and grabbed Spencer’s shoulders. “We have no intention of dying, and we’ll do **everything** we can to save everyone.”_

_Spencer laughed coldly and looked away, though he didn’t move._

_“I want to believe you. I have to believe you, but-” Spencer stopped when emotion very much like terror swelled in his chest and it caused him to nearly hyperventilate._

_“I know,” Derek, eyes pulled together unhappily, reached out and hugged Spencer. Spencer didn’t even think and automatically hugged him back tightly. “I know.”_

_The last time he and Derek hugged like this, it was when they were here – in the BAU, and saying goodbye after Derek decided to leave._

_Spencer tried to breathe deeply, but…_

_Everyone leaves._

_“I can’t lose h-” Spencer stiffened when he realized what he almost said._

_If possible, Spencer loved Derek more in that moment – when he let the slip pass without comment beyond a single, steadfast statement._

_“I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”_

_Spencer’s eyes squeezed tightly shut against oncoming tears, to overcome to speak just yet._

_After a moment, Spencer squeezed Derek once before they pulled away._

_“I don’t want you to die either.” He added._

_Derek smiled. “Mhm, I know.” He threw one arm, gently and supportively, around Spencer’s shoulders._

_Neither one said a word as they walked back towards the bullpen._

A car suddenly appears on a nearby screen and it seems to be…yes, headed towards Hotch and Derek’s location.

The tension in the room amplifies by substantial degrees.

“Quick! See if you can get a plate.” Emily rushes forward.

“Already on it Milady!” Garcia pipes up.

Spencer leans over and grasps the back of Garcias chair with faintly trembling fingers.

_Please, please don’t let this be a mistake._

He feels a hand grasp his shoulder. Spencer doesn’t have to look to know its Luke, nothing could tear him from the screen now.

Hotch and Derek are walking down a relatively unoccupied side street, and Spencer wishes they could at least warn them.

The second the car pulls up beside them and two men exit, Spencer begins to panic; the hand on his shoulder squeezes him.

_She’s not there._

_Breathe, breathe._

Garcia zooms in with the camera that has the best angle.

Beside him Spencer hears Emily on the phone with the police, letting them know of the development and to stand by.

The two red dots on the far screen continue to blink.

The men, wearing wide brimmed hats – making it pretty much useless to try and see their faces clearly, pin Hotch and Derek in on either side. They’re speaking to them - but it’s impossible to tell what they’re saying.

Spencer can’t see any obvious signs of guns or other weapons on their person. For all intents and purposes, these two men just strode up to Hotch and Derek and struck up a conversation.

If the plan _weren’t_ to let themselves get caught, Spencer has faith in his friend’s abilities to take care of themselves against those two men. However, just because they can’t see weapons through a camera, doesn’t mean Hotch and Derek aren’t privy to something they can’t see.

Additionally, Spencer would be surprised if the two men _weren’t_ somehow threatening with the lives of their friends if they refused to comply.

One of the men holds up a phone, in Derek and Hotch’s faces – Garcia tries to zoom in but the image is still indistinct.

When Spencer notices Hotch and Derek tense significantly, his mind whirrs with what they were probably shown ( _JJ? Alex? Rossi? Are they alright?_ ) and his heart jumps in his throat.

Then, everyone is deathly silent as the two men move behind Hotch and Derek – temporarily blocking their view. When they move, it is to roughly grab the backs of their jackets push them through the open door of the burgundy minivan.

And they’re gone from sight.

_Be alright, please be alright, and stay alive._

Again, Spencer immediately hears Emily on the phone.

“Garcia…” Tara leans forward.

“On it.” Garcia is sure to follow the van as best she can while pulling up the screen showing the blinking red of Hotch and Derek.

Spencer waits with bated breath…and there they are, the trackers are working. Two red dots moving along with the move, two circles of colour that represents two of the most important people in Spencer’s life.

Spencer hears various urgent voices and sounds around him, but they move to the fringes of his focus as he keeps a weather eye on the screen; his hand grasping Garcia’s chair with a white-knuckled grip.

It isn’t long before Garcia can’t track them visually, and all they have to rely on is the reliability of the trackers concealed in Hotch and Derek’s shoes.

_This is a mistake, this is a mistake –_

_No, don’t go there. Not now._

_It’s too late._

All they can do now is wait for them to come to a full stop, or their position somehow indicates they’ve likely come to JJ, Rossi and Alex’s location.

Hopefully.

The unknowns in this plan have Spencer’s stomach in steel knots.

When after several minutes the van appears to drive move out of town, and off the main road Garcia quickly pulls up information on the area with lighting quick typing.

“Where are they going?” Luke utters with a lowered voice; his hand still resting supportively on Spencer.

“Isn’t that area under construction?” Tara looks closely.

Spencer nods. “Yes.” _Why are they going there?_

“For several months,” Garcia continues, anxiously reading out a string of information. “Apparently a legal dispute has held up the project, a condominium village, from moving forward and is largely abandoned at this point.”

“So, no one’s around.” Tara mumbles.

“Exactly.”

Sure enough, Spencer tenses like a bowstring when the dots suddenly stop moving towards the far end of the main construction area.

Emily, still on the phone – keeping the police apprised – stares at the screen.

They all do.

Waiting.

After a minute – they start moving again, significantly slower…Spencer frowns.

“They’re walking.” He whispers.

“Yes.” Luke concurs, sounding a bit confused. “What’s there?”

Spencer swallows. “A forest.”

“They can’t just be being held in the middle of it, there has to be a building of some sort.” Emily posits.

_Unless they’re –_

**_No._ **

Spencer fortifies himself with a deep breath.

It doesn’t help.

“And where there are buildings, there are records.” Garcia is already on the move again, clicking away despite the trembling in her fingers, much like Spencer’s own.

After a further few minutes, the red dots suddenly stop moving.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Spencer tries desperately not to panic.

“Go! Go! Head to…” Emily shouts into the phone as he walks away.

And then everyone is on the move.

Spencer feels Luke’s hand fall away.

He remains standing there, frozen in place for a minute more – staring at the blinking red dots, willing with all his broken heart for them be _alive_ and to _stay_ that way.

Spencer tries not to think of his nightmares, Maeve dying before his eyes – along with Hotch, and now as he closes his eyes against the haunting images his mind supplies the bodies of the others too.

Spencer opens his eyes, tears threatening to spill, and looks down when he feels a smaller, softer hand lightly touch his.

Garcia. He hadn’t noticed he was still holding onto her chair.

“We’ll find them.” She whispers, but Spencer can see the fear there in her eyes as well. “All of them.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out hoarsely and pulls his hand away, swiftly leaving the room. Spencer takes one last look at the blinking red of Hotch and Derek.

_We will._

_There is no other option._

 

Meanwhile, a few minutes from the fringes of that forest; a long since overgrown road guides the way to a log cabin.

The only inhabitants are a woman, two men, and the people confined in the basement.

Three of them have been there for nearly 48hrs, hungry, thirsty and tired; but relatively uninjured otherwise.

The basement door is suddenly flung open and two men, very familiar to the occupants, are tossed roughly in; their hands remain tied.

Just like the rest.

“Aaron? Morgan?” Rossi, utters in disbelief, voice rough and dry.

“Oh my god! How were you-” JJ throws herself at the two men, holding them tightly. “Are my-”

“They’re fine JJ, Will, Henry and Michael are safe in the BAU.” Hotch responds calmly.

JJ sags in relief.

“What’s going on?” Alex Blake mumbles from a corner; unsteadily pushing herself up from where she’d been laying down.

Derek rushes over, Rossi moves to help.

“Aaron and Morgan are here.” Rossi mutters as he carefully helps Alex to sitting.

Derek notices her hand is bent at an odd angle and winces perceptibly.

“To-” She starts, but stops when Rossi shakes his head.

“Why is that by the way? I assume you realized that you two would be-” Rossi starts.

“We did.” Hotch nods, the others – save for Derek – look at him with confusion. Hotch turns to Alex. “Spencer got your clue.”

Alex smiles a bit despite the obvious pain she’s in. “Of course he did.”

“Then I assume you two didn’t just go out on your own to search for us?” Rossi raises a disapproving brow in both their directions, impressive considering their current circumstances.

Derek shakes his head. “Nope, we have a plan.”

In answer, Hotch slides off his shoe, lifts up the sole and pulls out a small, black device to show the others.

Comprehension dawns on their faces.

“Everyone else is on their way.”

 

Unbeknownst to this group of five, Maeve suddenly glimmers into existence in the basement; directly adjacent to Aaron Hotchner.

She is understandably confused at first, one minute she was in the BAU – watching team in Garcia’s room, hidden in the shadow of the doorway.

The next…she is here. It’s only the second time Maeve has experienced a significant time jump, and she doubts it is something she will ever get used to – the feeling of twisting nausea without technically having a body to actually _get_ nauseated.

It doesn’t take her long to realize where she is, once Maeve sees the people in front of her – all with varying degrees of wear and tear.

When she sees Aaron, his arm around JJ, any questions about why she was brought here are answered.

The only ones she has now are, _what can I possibly do?_

Maeve is still reeling from _the_ revelation and not exactly in the best state of mind.

But still she kneels in front of Aaron, masked almost entirely in darkness; lit only by light streaming from underneath the door.

He sighs and leans back against the wall with tension obvious in the lines of not just his face, but his entire body.

Maeve watches him with tender, melancholy eyes and makes a promise to herself.

 

“I do not know what is possible for me to do, but I swear – I _will_ do whatever I can to keep you alive.” Maeve exhales brokenly in unshed tears.

 “I refuse to watch him lose any more of himself, and whether you know it or not…” Maeve gulps; eye’s shining as she stares at the man in front of her. “You _are_ a part of him, and losing you would…”

In that moment, Maeve wants desperately to be able to cry. Yet, her face remains dry as she breathes in deeply.

“And I think, you care more than he is aware of, don’t you?”

Aaron of course, doesn’t respond.

Maeve nods once with firm resolve.

“I will do my best, I promise.”

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

_A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world._

_It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path._

_~ Agatha Christie_

 

 

Skillful research, or maybe just luck, led Garcia to an interesting discovery.

After the duds the car plates turned out to be (van stolen nearly two weeks ago), and a trace on the phone that called Spencer (a burner phone) went nowhere, getting results – especially when they needed them most was a great relief.

The team rode in their own SUV while Will and other police, and SWAT, followed in multiple cars behind them. The plan was to park everyone just far enough away so they wouldn’t alert in kidnappers in the woods, but not too far that they couldn’t get there in a hurry if something were to happen. S.W.A.T, Emily, Luke, Tara, Will and Spencer will then approach the location; all have been equipped with microphones. Luckily, the GPS showed that Hotch and Derek weren’t a great distance past the forest boundary.

During the drive, which in actuality wasn’t that long but to Spencer felt like crawling hours, Garcia was on speaker and relayed to them what she found.

It seemed the universe had granted them a stroke of good fortune, when Garcia began searching numerous sources for real estate, house and abandoned building records; she got one hit.

Approximately sixty years ago, a master-builder built a series of log cabins in this particular area, before more modern construction development took over several years later.

Most of the homes were either demolished or moved.

However, there was one, the one furthest away from the thoroughfare, which eventually became abandoned.

It was the one the original architect lived in, and Garcia discovered that while there were no documents indicating anyone is living there – legally it still technically belongs to his family.

He has one surviving son. Mason Roberts. Who, coincidentally, has a substantial criminal record including, but not limited to; assault and battery, armed robbery and attempted kidnapping.

Mr. Roberts, now 67 years old, was released on probation last year before vanishing a week later.

The prison he was released from was in Boston.

It wouldn’t be a far stretch to suspect he could very well be one of Abitha’s accomplices.

The more information they had going into this, the better it would be for everyone involved.

However, once they arrived at the potential scene, they had no choice but to press forward.

They separated into teams; S.W.A.T first, follow by Spencer and Luke, Emily and Tara, and Will with a group of police.

The intention is to careful swarm the cabin from all sides once they found it and with some inventive technology S.W.A.T can then assess the situation and they would go from there.

Of course, things rarely go to plan.

Spencer and Luke are currently walking through the woods as quietly as possible, which given their location is difficult if not impossible. And they can’t exactly afford to go at a turtles pace.

“No sign yet.” The crackle of Emily’s voice echoes in Spencer’s ear, and gathering from the nod Luke gave him, he heard it to.

The microphones seem to be working at least.

“Same here, continuing forward.” Luke recites.

“Affirmative.” Spencer tightens his hold on his gun and deftly avoids a fallen tree.

“Be careful you two.” Tara.

“No promises.” Luke whispers.

“Spencer.” Emily mutters with a firm undertone.

I will do whatever it takes to save them. Spencer suspects that Emily is more worried about his state of mind, and that he may do something reckless.

_If it saves them, then yes, I will._

_…Alright, perhaps Emily’s fear is not **entirely** unfounded. _

Spencer has no intention of being an idiot and making a volatile situation worse, which could end very badly for all of them.

He just…he doesn’t _know._

“I will be.” Spencer finally answers.

“Alright.” Emily sighs. “Going silent.”

Spencer entered a single-minded haze the second they entered this forest, a burst of adrenaline that will hopefully carry him through the next little while despite his fragile emotional state.

He wants – _needs_ to get moving.

They’re so close.

It can’t be far now.

There is still a significant amount of sunlight left in the day; however the forest is thick – tall evergreen and deciduous trees cast shadows everywhere. The air is cool, Spencer’s exhales coming out in small plumes of mist billowing against his raised arms.

They’d all armed themselves before arriving; gun and vests. Spencer had dug into his spare bag at the BAU, and changed into more appropriate clothes, left the shirt but changed into a flexible pair of jeans.

In many ways they have entered this situation half-blind, so as a precaution when they split to cover more ground towards the cabin; they drew their guns. Spencer knows these people have their own firearms too.

Better safe than sorry.

A few more steps.

A few more breaths.

And –

“I see it.” Spencer exhales quietly, coming to an abrupt stop; eyes wide heart rate jumping.

“Me too.” Luke moves to take cover behind a tree.

Spencer crouches low beside a large bush; his slightly clammy hands retain a firm grip on his weapon.

“S.W.A.T has eyes on it.” The S.W.A.T. leader replies decisively.

Spencer is gazing over the home before them with hyper precision; taking in every detail and looking for any sign of –

“We’ve got movement.”

Spencer sees it at the same moment the words echo in his ear, his breath catches. One of the windows, covered on the inside by thin yellow curtains, expose the light within and that of the shadow of that just walked by.

_I need to get in there._

_JJ, Rossi, Alex, Derek and…Aaron._

It’s taking _all_ of Spencer’s vestiges of control to _not_ rush forward into the home, gun cocked, and anxious energy buzzing him from head to toe.

Fear and adrenaline make for interesting chemical synthesis.

_It just feels, so **wrong** to be out here when they’re in there._

It’s impossible to tell _exactly_ where though (that is if this hasn’t been a colossal mistake in the first place).

The cabin is only one level, albeit a tall one, but there appears to be a basement – most likely their people are held in there.

The home itself is in a small overgrown clearing, on the edges of which stands an independent generator ( _ah, so that explains the power_ , since according to Garcia this place is abandoned, or rather was), the siding of the home is uniform half logs ranging from ten to forty feet long, arranged in an unusual pattern, dotted occasionally with round windows and topped with a low angle roof.

Spencer can’t tell from this side if there’s another door or not around the back, but from his and Luke’s position there is one directly in front of them; bright red, maybe fifty feet away. The house is quite obviously well built; it would have to be, to still seem to be in this good of a condition after sixty years, at least on the outside.

“We’re in position, waiting on S.W.A.T.” Tara’s voice resonates through the mic.

“Confirmed.” Emily.

“We’ve got eyes on what appears to be the front door.”

“Has there been any sign of them yet?” Spencer asks, making sure to keep as quiet as possible.

_Don’t run in there, don’t do it._

_It could make things worse._

And Spencer thought the drive here was bad, this…the adage of so close, yet so far, has never felt more painfully relevant.

“I have counted at least three people, doubtful they’re the agents.” A S.W.A.T. officer answers him.

At least that means they’re inside, and not somewhere else, which is both good and bad news.

_Come on._

_Come on._

“Hey, breathe. We got this.”

Spencer looks up to see Luke leaning down towards him, pulling his microphone away for a moment as he whispers in Spencer’s ear.

Spencer gives him a quick nod and looks back at the house.

_I hope we do._

Suddenly, a loud sound reverberates throughout the entire woods.

A gunshot.

It came from the cabin.

Spencer’s heart turns to ice.

“No…”

Spencer doesn’t wait, he just _runs._

He hears screaming words in his ear, but they mean nothing to him.

Spencer quickly reaches the flimsy looking door, and with his gun drawn he kicks it in – _oh god._

What Spencer sees makes him still abruptly; haunting déjà vu causes his mouth to part and hands to constrict on his gun.

_She looks just like Maeve, or what Maeve…would have looked like._

_Same colour hair, eyes, body shape…_ it makes Spencer feel incredibly uneasy on top of everything else.

The shock of it fades quickly however, when he notices the far more pressing concern in front of him.

The woman – Abitha – is staring at him with unblinking eyes and a twisted smile, gun drawn, as though she were waiting for him. On her person she wears a loose white blouse topped with a dark red leather jacket, a worn pair of grey suit pants, and her long, greying hair billows around her shoulders in waves.

Additionally, directly to her right is indeed the man from the picture Garcia sent them all; Mason Roberts.

The room is open concept; lit by the aging electric lighting, revealing the inner walls to be smooth, oaken wood, the only furniture contained within is a table and two chairs just outside of the dilapidated kitchen area, otherwise the room is filled with various camping materials; sleeping bags, propane stove etc.

In the far corner, there is a rusted woodstove, directly beside which is indeed another door. Another man stands beside it, younger, although his focus seems to primarily be keeping an eye on the back door.

So far, Spencer only sees the one gun. However, he will be surprised if that turns out to be their only weapon.

Throughout all this Spencer is torn between keeping an eye on Abitha and the gun trained on him, and frantically searching the room for the others. Near the kitchen he sees another door leading deeper into the house, it appears to made out of a stronger material in comparison to the front and back doors.

_The basement?_

Spencer is confused for a moment.

_There **was** a gunshot; I wasn’t the only one –_

A hole in the nearby wall catches his eye; there, lodged in the crevice between wood panels, is a bullet. It looks fresh.

_Oh._

_Damnit._

Spencer resists the urge to literally hit himself.

“It’s good to see you Dr. Reid; I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show.” Her voice sounds significantly deeper to his ear than on the phone, but the flat tone is certainly familiar.

And now that Spencer can see her, he suspects that careful guise of control and aloof countenance is largely contrived. He has come face to face with the most disturbed of individuals, devoid of anything but cool indifference. Abitha’s eyes carry a skillfully veiled miasma of emotion; anger, pain, a broken heart, but _veiled_ none-the-less.

That observation does not make Spencer feel any better.

Abitha tilts her head (in a way so similar to what Spencer has seen _Maeve_ do –it chills him), eyeing him speculatively.

Spencer forces himself to breathe evenly.

_Do not let her get to you._

_If we’re **all** going to get out of this alive, you need to remain in control._

“Abitha, I presume?” Spencer effects a casual demeanour, hardly possible when your gun to gun with somebody.

Her eyes flash with something unknowable, and cracked lips turn up in a smile.

Beside her, Mason pulls out a gun from the pocket of his jean jacket; holding it casually, yet expertly in his hands; his dark, unreadable eyes are fixed unwaveringly on Spencer.

“Indeed, good for you boy. I see using my own blood was a decent decision on my part.” Abitha wiggles one of her fingers; upon its tip Spencer sees a healing wound. _So she **did** use her blood on purpose, she wanted us – me, to know who she was…_ “Now, before we get into all this mess, call off your posse.”

Spencer doesn’t move at first.

He has heard movement from outside, and he suspects both S.W.A.T and the team are seconds away from bursting in.

Abitha sighs and gestures to the right with her gun, eyes’ not leaving Spencer’s once.

At the movement Mason moves.

Spencer is confused for only a moment, and although hesitant to take his off the woman in front of him, he can’t help but anxiously follow Mr. Roberts with his eyes.

He’s heading to –

_The basement._

Spencer becomes rigid as a very visceral fear takes hold of his body.

Abitha smirks as Mason, now in front of the door primes his gun to fire.

 _No!_ Spencer’s heart screams.

“I don’t think I need to ask again, do I?”

Fuck.

Still keeping one hand on his gun and his eyes on Mason still standing with his gun drawn by the basement door, Spencer quickly lifts his mic close to his mouth.

So far, the whole time he’s been in here, Spencer was so distracted he completely forgot about the mic. And he wonders how much the others have heard, and if they were keeping quiet for his sake after his reckless move.

“Do not enter. I repeat, _do not enter_.” Spencer practically shouts in the mic, he hears some rustling movement through the speaker. “They’re armed with sights on our people and immediate intentions to fire if _any_ of you come in here.”

Silence.

And then –

“Understood.” It’s Emily, and she does _not_ sound happy.

Spencer nods. “Ok, it’s done.”

His eyes flit anxiously between Abitha and Mason; his hands tighten around his gun.

_Maybe I can get a shot off towards him and that may buy the team outside just enough team to get in here before she -_

“Excellent,” Abitha grins. Spencer has no time to relax when he notices Mason lower his gun. With her own gun cocked, Abitha strides forward. “Get rid of the mic, and put the gun, down. _Now._ ” Her eyes darken.

Spencer’s jaw clenches. Mason is still too close, and it’s at least two guns against one – the man on the far side of the room is still a wildcard here.

Spencer curses, hoping at the very least maybe he find a way to drag out whatever it is Abitha has planned and give the others enough time to formulate a plan to get them all out safely.

Without further thought he slowly and carefully puts his hands up, crouches and lowers the gun to the floor.

Abitha has her gun fixed to him the entire time.

He stands up and kicks the gun far enough away to satisfy her (while carefully taking note of its position), while also pulling the mic out of his ear and throwing that in the same general direction.

Now, standing unarmed in front of a gun pointed directly at his neck – ironically the last place he got seriously shot – Spencer is essentially helpless.

_Damnit!_

_Think, just breath, and think._

Abitha strides forward, gun only slightly lowered. “I know that will only give me a little time, I have no illusions about making it out of this alive - but a little time is all I need, and my beauty will be satisfied.” She whispers, only Spencer can hear her now.

(In the back of his mind Spencer wonders if her cohorts are aware that this is ultimately a suicide mission for her)

There is emptiness in her face that, in any other situation, Spencer would find heartbreaking.

Right now however, she is what is standing between him and the people he loves.

Abitha really does have nothing to lose, and the way she said ‘my beauty’ made it sound like a…title, almost.

_Maeve?_

“Get them out.” Abitha backs away and shouts loudly towards Mason. _What?_ Spencer darts fear-filled eyes between the two of them. “You, come over here.”

With no longer any decent way to defend himself against a gun, Spencer has no choice but to acquiesce to her demand.

All the while he is running scenarios in his head on where this could go from here on out, and ways he can potentially use Abitha’s weak points against her.

Anything to stall.

That’s all he needs to do now, all he _can_ do.

_Stall._

Abitha guides him over to a spot on the wall not far from where he was already standing.

Inbetween two windows Spencer notices a large hoop on the wall, which appears to have been recently installed. Despite its size, it is the same colour as the wall and Spencer hadn’t seen it when he first arrived.

 _She’s going to tie me up._ Spencer realizes.

Spencer looks over his shoulder to notice Mason is no longer there, before he can begin to panic however –

“No looking just yet.” Abitha hits him hard on his shoulder with the butt of her gun.

Spencer grits his teeth and restrains the wince.

When he is standing in front of the hook, arms up and facing the wall, Spencer notices Abitha dangling a pair of sturdy looking handcuffs, tauntingly, just within his field of view.

_I hate being right._

_This is not good._

_No – there is too much at stake, I can’t afford to give up._

“Turn around, _slowly_.”

Spencer does so. And she gestures for him to raise his arms above his head, Spencer complies.

“Julian, keep an eye on him for me.” Abitha calls out.

The young man by the back door – Julian – walks only a little closer before reaches behind himself and –

_Of course he has a gun too._

Three guns and Spencer’s own lying unattended on the floor… _shit._

Spencer is helpless to fight against Abitha pulling the handcuffs through the hoop, and attaching them securely to Spencer’s raised arms.

Once he is locked in, Abitha backs away with her arms crossed; gun now snug in her coat pocket.

Spencer tests the strength by pulling a little…they’re no dollar store handcuffs, these are definitely the real thing, and the only thing Spencer can think of to escape would be to dislocate a few fingers and pull his hands out. But that’s a moot point; he’ll never be able to do that while being watched this closely.

“Yes, very good.” Abitha looks him up and down with a pleased smile. “I think we can get started now.” _On what?_ Spencer wants to ask. “Mason!”

At that moment the basement door opens and –

_JJ._

“No…” Spencer can’t help but mutter with wide, scared eyes.

Mason is roughly pulling JJ along behind him; her hands appear handcuffed much like his own. 

Spencer is relieved beyond words to see her alive, but the scratches and bruises littering her bare arms and face turn his stomach. Her face is worn and exhausted, but that staunch fire that Spencer so associates with her is there and just as bright as ever.

And then they fully round the corner, and she sees him.

JJ’s eyes widen and her already pale face loses even more colour.

“ _Spence-!_ ”

“Shut up!” Mason speaks for the first time and hits her across the cheek with his gun.

“ _Stop it!_ ” Spencer yells instinctively with boiling anger.

JJ does stumble a little, but she doesn’t fall and her eyes portray no pain even though she has to be in some.

“Mason…” Abitha chastises; exasperation colour her tone. She’s standing a few feet in front of him, moving her gaze back and forth between Spencer and whatever Mason is doing.

Mason rolls his eyes and resumes pulling at JJ.

Spencer bites his lip to keep from yelling again, and he hates it.

JJ hasn’t once taken her eyes off Spencer; and they scream her own fear, but whether it’s simply fear for him, or something else, he doesn’t know.

Whatever the reason, Spencer sees she is restraining herself nearly as much effort as he is.

It’s when Mason stops at the wall directly opposite Spencer on the other side of the room, that Spencer sees them.

 _1, 2, 3, 4_ …five hoops identical to his.

Spencer feels his stomach drop.

_Oh no._

_Hurry up,_ Spencer quietly screams inside his head; _hurry up Emily, Luke, and Tara, Will, everyone…hurry up._

Sure enough, JJ is out of Spencer’s direct line of sight for a moment while Mason attaches her to the hoop.

When he steps away, Spencer notices that JJ is straining to remain completely calm; there is a faint quiver to her arms, being shorter it’s taking her more effort to remain standing. All the hoops are at the same level. Spencer remembers, painfully, this isn’t the first time she’s been a position similar to this.

Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off her. He hopes Hotch and Derek were able to fill them in on their plan, but still Spencer tries to reassure her through his earnest eyes;

_We will get out of this._

_Your boys are safe._

JJ seems to get the message, her lips twitching upwards for the barest of seconds is the only change in her current demeanour.

All the while, Abitha is watching silently with narrowed eyes and Julian is keeping a weather eye on them both.

When Spencer hears the basement door move again, he braces himself.

Rossi.

Like JJ, he is promptly attached to one of the hoops – one to her immediate left. He looks to be in slightly better condition than her, at least on the outside. Like with JJ, seeing him alive is a relief that is quickly squashed with the reality of their situation.

He doesn’t say a word, but does fix Spencer with the same fondly exasperated expression he gets when Spencer goes on one of his “tirades”.

The sight almost makes Spencer cry.

_I will get you out of this. All of you._

_I just need to keep her, **all** of them, distracted._

If they’re all going to be tied up though…that just makes things even more difficult and dangerous, but if Spencer thinks too much about that, he won’t be able to focus with images of watching as his friends are killed in front of his eyes.

_One step at a time._

After Rossi, Mason brings out Alex.

Immediately Spencer sees she looks worse off than the other two, he wonders if maybe she was initially caught by surprise and tried to fight back.

Her hand looks broken, or at least sprained.

When Spencer sees Alex unable to contain a small cry in pain when Mason roughly hoists her to the wall like the others, his hands clench and he bites his cheek to the point of bleeding.

He leaves again.

She seemed really out of it before, but the burst of pain appears to have awakened her to her surroundings. Alex frantically looks worriedly at JJ, Rossi and when she notices Spencer, her eyes become intensely troubled.

He tries to look reassuring, but Spencer doesn’t think he succeeds all that well.

Alex simply shakes her head. _It’s alright._

Spencer does everything in his power to _not_ cry. _No it isn’t._

This is his worst nightmare come to life.

And yet, Spencer knows it is about to get worse.

Mason shortly arrives again with Derek in tow. His tall friend towers over the old man holding onto him, and if there weren’t three armed people in their immediate vicinity Spencer knows Derek wouldn’t be yielding quite so easily.

He doesn’t look all that worse for wear, for which Spencer is grateful.

While he’s being strung up, Derek finally sees him and his eyes widen in panic for a split second.

_Yeah, being strung up wasn’t part of the plan._

_But I was an idiot._

Guilt and fear mingle low in Spencer’s belly.

Of course, when Mason leaves again – Spencer is achingly, frightfully aware of what that means.

_Aaron._

The final hoop is directly across from Spencer.

One look at Abitha’s face and he knows this was by design.

_She really **is** creating my worst nightmare._

_Oh god, please. I refuse. I **refuse** to go through this again._

Spencer tears his eyes away from her and desperately tries to centre himself – to find some calm, or he really won’t be able to find a way out of this in time.

He takes a deep breath.

“You fired the gun on purpose. To draw me in here.” _Why_ Spencer is talking to her, he doesn’t know, maybe to distract himself – maybe to draw _her_ out, find something he can use.

“You were taking your sweet, slow time. I was getting impatient.” Abitha takes her gun back out, holding it smoothly in her hands.

Impatient, and nothing left to lose…None of that exactly bodes well for him. “What if it had been someone else?”

The sickly sweet, sudden smile Abitha gives him is alarming and sets Spencer even more on _edge._

“Are you actually serious?” She laughs coolly, and nods towards the basement door - Mason is now exiting with Hotch. All breath leaves Spencer’s body in a pained, silent whimper. “Ultimately it was a calculated risk, but it seemed to work out for me.” Abitha casually lets her hand holding the gun dangle as he walks to perfectly centre herself between Spencer and the rest.

_She counted on me rushing in on the first sign of trouble._

Stomach-churning guilt fills him. _I promised myself I wouldn’t make this worse; now look at where we are._

Spencer shakes off the feeling as best he can; he has no time to admonish himself. If necessary, he can do that later.

Right now, what’s done is done.

Spencer can’t tear his eyes away from Hotch as the man is attached to the final hoop; their eyes are perfectly in line with each other.

When Hotch notices this, notices Spencer, his eyes flash for a split second with a very real fear. It is quickly hidden though behind that indomitable façade.

_Aaron, I’m sorry._

Spencer clenches his eyes for a second, trying to fight his shameful tears. When he opens them again, he sees Hotch is looking at him with narrowed eyes. Spencer meets them, and Hotch gives a small, barely perceptible shake of his head – _it’s not your fault._

Spencer doesn’t respond outwardly, but he feels the denial wanting to express itself loudly.

“Alright! Finally that’s done.” Abitha holsters her gun and claps her hands.

And the moment is broken.

Only, _wait_ – There’s a distortion in the air near Abitha, and Spencer knows what’s happening even before she fully appears.

_Maeve._

Spencer stiffens. _Where have you been? Why are you here now?_ Spencer can’t even envision what must be going through her head.

Compassion and grief for her at this moment make Spencer’s eyes shine.

_Maeve, I’m sorry._

She hasn’t looked at him yet; instead her wide eyes are fixed on Abitha…her sister, her _mother_ , her cousin.

Maeve looks so… _lost_ , body sagging with pain, eyes shining with tears as her hands come up to cover her mouth and she staggers backwards.

“Oh my god…” No one but Spencer hears her.

Spencer closes his eyes briefly and looks away.

_So much pain in this room._

Spencer opens his eyes and looks ahead of him - ignoring the painful strain of his arms that has begun to make itself known.

“I named her, you know.” Abitha crosses her arms and begins an uneven, slow pace down the middle of the room. Spencer hears Maeve exhale painfully at the declaration. “Maeve was…So beautiful.” Abitha stops walking and looks towards the ceiling, biting her lip. “Proof that even beauty could come from evil.” She sighs. “Of course, that doesn’t mean evil won’t find it again.” Abitha slowly turns her head to stare darkly at Spencer. He swallows and remains silent as she strides towards him. “You _killed_ that proof, my _daughter_.” Abitha spits and angrily hits her chest.

Spencer doesn’t say how in the darkest corners of his mind, how true that feels.

“No-” Maeve starts to say, but of course, Abitha can’t hear her.

“Want to know the truth Dr. Reid? I lost my childhood, my _life_ to my father’s brother. My parents didn’t do _shit_.” Abitha _screams_. “Oh naughty Abitha, got herself in trouble, must have been one of her many boyfriends! What shall we do? Oh yes I know! Let’s let her _keep_ the baby, maybe toss in being able to name her into the deal, and we’ll raise the little thing as our own daughter. You know, make up for our mistakes – and not even try with our actual daughter, because you know, she’s a lost cause so why bother?” Abitha scoffs. “They may have continued to pretend I was only a fringe element, but I made sure Maeve knew she was safe and that she was beautiful. She was…so much mine. I made sure my problems never came within a hundred feet of her.” Abitha walks away in angry tears, grabbing her own hair before furiously turning around and once again flashing Spencer with pained fury. “She was the only good thing to come out of that pathetic man, literally.”

While Spencer suspected much of that himself, he still finds himself speechless. No matter what she did, or is doing now, what happened to this woman…was despicable and yes, evil, in the worst way. _Nothing_ changes the fact that what she experienced no child, _no one_ , should ever have to experience.

Hearing it, feeling the pain of it, is something Spencer has never gotten used to in this job. In a way, he’s glad he’s never gotten used to it.

It is doubly harder now, because of the people involved.

Maeve, standing near Abitha in a very cruel tableau, looks… _shattered._

Abitha, unaware of this, continues. “The long and short of it is, he came back after disappearing for years – I thought I was free, but evil is persistent. I came back from school, intent on becoming a psychologist if you can believe it.” She snorts humourlessly. “It was just supposed to be a surprised visit, Maeve…she always liked seeing me.” Abitha looks down with a small smile, which is quickly wiped away when once again she focuses her attention on the room.

“I did. I loved you.” Maeve whispers, broken.

“When I arrived home…he was there. On the couch, with _her_ , _reading_ her a _story_.” Abithas eyes fill with something truly terrifying. “I never left the room once while he was there, and the bastard noticed. When I found out he’d moved nearby…my parents pretended to be pleased, oh I knew they weren’t happy, but again – they didn’t do shit. Fucking assholes, would rather just sweep that under the rug. They left _her_ , in a room _alone_ with him. I screamed at them for hours, after Maeve went to bed. And you know what they said?” Abitha looks at Spencer.

Spencer swallows the lump in his throat. “What?” He exhales shakily.

“Absolutely nothing.” Abitha spits through gritted teeth. “I went over to his house that night, to confront him. He…he tried, _again_.” Abitha collapses forward, hands on her thighs, laughing hysterically. “Well,” She slowly unfolds herself. “That didn’t work out so well for him, I ran, he chased me, I pushed him – the stairs were right there. It just…it happened.” She shrugs, expression suddenly becoming distant. “When I realized he was dead, I ran home. On the way, I realized something.”

Abitha once again turns towards Spencer and walks right into his space. “I am poison. And if I stayed, someone would eventually happen to her. So, I left. Permanently. Tried to start over, forget. But, of course one can never forget true beauty.” Abitha tilts her head; face devoid of any and all emotion now. “You know, I didn’t even find out about how my parents explained my leaving to Maeve until I came back a year ago, after I used a couple old friends, for lack of a better term, to check in on her for the first time in seven years. And I suppose you can figure out what I discovered, hm?”

“Yes…” Spencer breathes out with barely controlled tears; old and new heartbreak tearing at his insides.

“ _Yes_.” Abitha spits. “She was dead. I came back to find out when, how, _why_ , I couldn’t believe it. What is a cloud without a silver lining? It didn’t take me too long to find out – _everything_.” Abitha narrows her eyes pointedly at him. “After that it was just a matter of figuring out what to do, obviously you couldn’t go unpunished – and yet, you did. All of you!” She whirls around to face the others. “You were there, you could’ve done more. And you _didn’t_.”

“Abitha-” Alex tries speaking to her.

“ _Shut up!_ ” Abitha, insanely fast, has her gun in hand and pointed towards Alex.

Spencer inhales sharply in fear, _no please –_

But then Abitha lowers her arm, seeming to _blink_ herself from rage to calm.

“Hm.” Abitha grumbles and turns back around in Spencer’s direction, scratching the top of her head as if she’s confused. She takes a deep breath. “Alright,” She claps her hands together and seems to consider something for a moment. “We’re probably running out of time here, so I’ll speed this up. Long story short, I’ve been living in Boston under a pseudonym for a number of years, came across these nice fellas-” Abitha gestures with both hands to Mason and Julian, neither of them move beyond a simple mock salute. “-about a year ago, quite by coincidence really, or fate as it turns out – I kept their “number”, just in case I needed their…multiple services, which of course, not long after I met them, I did. Turns out, if the law won’t punish wrong doers-” Abitha lifts the gun close to herself, stroking the barrel. “-you have to do it yourself. Of course, just killing you all outright would be too easy, too merciful a punishment. This is the main even really, the rest, the flowers, the notes…all window dressing I devised while waiting for the right time, and meanwhile do a little recon,” At this point Abithas eyes on Spencer turn dark and knowing. “The way I see it,” Abitha stalks forward until she is chest to chest with Spencer. And he tries greatly not to flinch and remain utterly still. “Beauty out of evil is the purest kind; it went through the fire and came out clean. Therefore, punishment of it must equal the crime, right?” Abitha sighs. “Of course you don’t, you don’t get it.”

“I do.” Spencer says suddenly.

_What the hell are you doing?_

_Drawing this out._

_That is just -_

“What?” Abitha blinks, and backs away a step.

_Well, too late now._

“A consequence must always equal the wrong committed,” Spencer, surprisingly, is able to keep his voice relatively steady. “My actions contributed to Maeve’s death, and nothing I ever do will ever atone for that.”

“Spencer, no, that’s _not_ true please-”

“I’m sorry.” Spencer interrupts Maeve loudly. _I…I can’t listen to you right now._ “I’m sorry I never did enough, I should’ve tried harder, insisted on…I’m sorry.” This time, Spencer doesn’t stop his tears from falling. Honestly, he doesn’t know who he’s speaking to. Maeve or Abitha. Probably both. “I loved her, she was beauty to me too, I loved your daughter Abitha, believe me I wish-”

“NO!” Abitha suddenly wails, angry tears fringing in her eyes. “Stop it, stop that. I know what you’re doing, it won’t work.” She resumes her chest to chest stare with him, breathing heavily and spitting her words. “Don’t even try to compare, don’t even _try_ , no one loved her like I did. Like I _still_ do,” Abitha narrows her eyes. “I am doomed to eternal suffering, you love her so much? You’ll join me there, before taking your place in hell. You led her to her death, now _I_ shall lead you to yours.” Abitha slowly takes out her gun. “Everyone must pay for their mistakes; _these_ are the consequences of yours.”

Abitha lifts her gun and walks towards JJ, Rossi, Derek, Alex and Hotch. Her intention is clear.

_No._

_No no no no no._

Spencer’s insides everywhere are screaming, he pulls desperately at the handcuffs. Before him he sees mirages of blood and the bodies of the people he loves, on top lies Hotch – _Aaron_ , and he mutters three words before falling silent into death.

_“You failed, again.”_

Spencer literally has to swallow back bile when he sees Abitha stop in front of Derek at one end.

He hears rattling indicating Spencer isn’t the only pulling hard at the handcuffs chaining him to the wall, but all he can see is the image of Abitha shooting every single one of them. They’re so close together, it wouldn’t matter if the others came now – they would all be dead.

And either way, Spencer would be too.

Abitha raises her gun.

“Not mine! Yours!” Spencer screams loudly, desperate to get her attention and turn it on him ( _time, time just create more time_ ), loud enough that everyone, including Mason and Julian, turn to stare at him.

Abitha pauses, but doesn’t lower the gun completely. She turns instead to face with, eyebrows pointedly raised.

“Excuse me?”

Spencer swallows.

_She is not going to like this._

_I don’t care; her focus needs to be on **me** , not **them.**_

Spencer briefly glances at his family chained opposite him; Derek is giving him a look along the lines of ‘what the hell are you doing?’, Alex looks scared, so does JJ, Rossi is more visibly distressed than Spencer has seen him in a long time, and Hotch…He’s just staring at Spencer, face and body entirely tense and drawn tight, eyes increasingly suspicious yet otherwise unreadable. 

_Like Derek, you’re probably trying to figure out what I’m doing?_

_I’m sorry._

Maeve is gaping at him with increasingly wide and terrified eyes, torn between watching him or Abitha.

“Yours.” Spencer fixes Abitha with a brutal glare. “If anyone’s mistakes are coming to light here, they are yours not _mine._ Abitha Donovan.”

The reaction is immediate.

Abitha roars and rushes at him, her gun now pressed forcefully underneath his chin – strong enough to cause his head to be pushed back and all he can see is the aging, wood ceiling. He feels her hand roughly grab the bit of his shirt exposed above his vest.

Whatever the furious thump of his heart has to say about it, Spencer is much more comfortable, and at peace, with the feeling of a gun underneath his chin than he is seeing one direction at the people in front of him.

This is concurrent with multiple, angry, furious cries of his name.

Maeve’s is a cry of pure anguish.

There is one notable exception.

Abitha eases the pressure on the gun, just enough for Spencer to lower his head. She does not ease her grip on his shirt however, nor does her hand waver from the gun poised to shoot him point blank.

Hotch is the only one who didn’t make a sound when that gun came into contact with Spencer’s skin.

And when Spencer is able to look at his face, he can see why.

The man is immobile with horror, and appears quite literally unable to speak or make a sound.

More than that, Spencer can see there is hope – the lingering thought that maybe, like so many times before, the team or someone will jump in to save them all before disaster strikes.

Unfortunately, for whatever times that has happened – there have been just as many where it _didn’t._

And when he feels the pressure of the gun increase again, and hears her finger go for the trigger, Spencer for a moment believes it will be one of the latter.

Spencer looks at Maeve; shaking with panic as she gazes at him.

Then Spencer fixes his eyes again on Hotch.

_Maybe it’s a weakness, but…I need to._

He can feel it, the moment when everyone considers he just may be shot in front of their eyes.

Still Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off Hotch.

He hears the click, closes his eyes, and then –

The gun is gone.

Spencer is flummoxed for a moment, and can’t help but pant heavily when feeling that deadly pieces of metal gone from his skin.

The collective sighs all around are cautious at best.

He opens his eyes with slight confusion and looks at Abitha.

She’s still standing in front of him, but her gun is now at her side because of her crossed arms.

Spencer feels a bit of whiplash from the complete turnaround, where she was just filled with rage and definite intent to kill him, now she’s looking at him with a thought look of consideration.

There is something…off about it.

He doesn’t like it.

Still with a racing heart, Spencer keeps an eye on Abitha moves off to the side; still watching him but no longer partially blocking his view of those in front of him.

Her eyes dart from Spencer, to Hotch (who quickly shutters his expression when he notices her casting an eye over to them), and back again a few times.

Something very much like dread floods his body…

_What is she thinking?_

Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off Abitha when she moves a little close to the other side and starts walking a careful line in front of them.

“The brother, the mother,” Abitha skips over Hotch. “The sister, the father…” Abitha stops when she gets to the end, looks at Hotch and then at Spencer with a dark twinkle in her eye.

Spencer stiffens.

_Oh no._

“Tell him.”

Spencer clenches his hands into fists, nails digging deep into his palms. He pointedly does _not_ look at anyone, too scared to see if they know what Abitha is referring to.

“What.” Spencer gulps hoarsely.

She sighs in annoyance, smoothing out the lines on her forehead with one hand.

“Alright, I’ll spell it out for you. One way or another, you’re _all_ going to die.” She makes a wide sweeping motion encompassing all of them, including Spencer. “It’s up to you how this happens,” Abitha points at him with the gun. “It’s more than you deserve really, if you _don’t_ tell him-” Abitha nods towards Hotch. “-I kill him first, on the other hand, if you do tell him then I’ll kill _you_ first.” Shrugs far too casually. “It really just boils down to one thing; would you rather die or see him die first?”

Spencer breathes heavily; before Abitha even started speaking Spencer had a growing suspicion of what she was going to coerce him into.

  _I hate being right._

A new, yet very familiar fear makes itself known to him.

He _can’t_ not.

Spencer is going to do it.

A part of Spencer has always wondered in what circumstances he would willingly divulge all of his feelings.

_Apparently, when I don’t have another choice._

One guarantees immediate death, and the other gives the others more time.

Abitha, however unstable, is remarkably intelligent. If he tries to lie, Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up seeing through it.

There’s no way to sugar-coat it, he’ll have to tell the truth.

_All of it._

If they live through this, the prospect of living with having flayed himself alive like this is hard to think about, however the alternative would be so much worse.

 _I **can** let it happen again,_ Spencer thinks while glancing fleetingly towards Maeve.

Apparently he’s taking too long to actually start speaking, without taking her eyes of Spencer – Abitha raises her gun towards Hotch.

“Wait! Wait!” Spencer calls out in a panic. “Alright, I – I’ll do it.”

Abitha smiles at him in vindictive pleasure and walks to stand near Spencer’s side.

Spencer can’t even stomach looking at the others right now. He turns away from Abitha, and forces himself to look at Hotch.

He looks angry.

Spencer swallows the lump in his throat.

_Does he know-?_

“Spencer, don’t-”

“ _Quiet!_ ” Abitha shouts and suddenly slams the gun down, hard, on Spencer’s nearest hand.

_Oh fuck, that hurts!_

And the pain doesn’t stop.

Spencer grits his teeth, but a pained whimper escapes nonetheless.

_Yeah, she broke fingers._

It’s certainly far from the _worst_ physical pain he’s ever felt, but it still stings like crazy.

Hotch is quite abruptly quiet, his expression carefully closed off the way it usually is when he is _especially_ angry.

Maeve quickly moves towards Spencer, pointedly not looking Abitha – for her own reasons probably, and pointedly stands as close as physical possible; giving Spencer a look of fierce determination, while glancing at his throbbing hand with a pained eye.

_She’s trying to give me support._

Spencer can’t express it, but in this moment…he is grateful that she is here.

“Good, now that everyone-” Abitha gives Hotch a pointed look. “-is quiet, I think Dr. Reid has something he would like to share with you Aaron Hotchner.” Abitha spins a bit on her feet to look at him. Spencer winces, and _not_ because of his broken fingers. “Any idea what it is?” Spencer can’t see her face, but her tone of voice appears to express genuine curiosity.

_I can’t…I can’t look at him._

_How can I?_

“I don’t know.”

Right now, Spencer can’t tell if Hotch means that or not.

“Fair enough.” Abitha nods. “Go ahead then, boy. Confess.” She gestures from Spencer to Hotch once before going to stand off to the side.

Spencer gathers himself, and looks up at Hotch; trying to say something with his eyes alone.

_I’m sorry._

_Don’t hate me after this, please._

_Well, I kissed and jumped the guy and that hasn’t made him hate me._

Even looking right at him, Spencer can’t begin to postulate what Hotch may be feeling or thinking; that façade is still there.

That, or Spencer is compromised in more ways than one.

He looks away.

“Remember, no tricks, tell the truth and _do **not** take your eyes off him._”

Shit.

Spencer nods; she really is determined to make this as painful as possible.

_I can do this._

_I can do this._

_I can’t do this._

_I have to._

Spencer meets Hotch’s eyes and fortifies himself heart and mind.

_Stop stalling. Just do it._

_Breathe._

“I’m in love with you.”

Maybe it’s all in his mind, but the silence that follows those words feels heavier than before.

It occurs to him that he has never, explicitly stated those words out loud before in relation to Hotch.

He feels exceptionally nauseas.

For a moment, Hotch’s expression doesn’t change, but then he blinks – _slowly_.

That’s it.

_Maybe I broke him?_

_No, don’t do that._

_Don’t stop, don’t think. Keep going._

“I know you weren’t sure about me at first, being in the BAU that young and all. But it didn’t take long for you to come to treat me as an equal, and with respect in a way many people haven’t, and after that an even shorter time for me to consider you among my closest friends, even when you were our boss you were, you were important-” _Alright, alright, stop._ Spencer bites his lip and blurs his vision a little; so now even though he is still looking _at_ Hotch, he can’t quite see him clearly.

If the sweaty palms and heart palpitations are indication, Spencer will need any help he can get.

_Move on, and try not to humiliate yourself further._

“You have always been important to me; I don’t know what happened, I’m sorry. I…I didn’t start to realize something else was going on, that I’d begun to develop…feelings weren’t contained to friendship in until that day years ago when you caught me reading that book of Latin Horace poetry-” No amount of blurring his vision, without closing his eyes altogether, could’ve prevented Spencer from noticing the way Hotch’s eyebrows dramatically rose. “-and you, you knew it. You didn’t laugh, I’ve always been…unusual, I know and for the most part I’m proud of who I am. But you…you’ve never laughed at me for who I am, not once in our many years of knowing each other. You never treated me as an alien in this world and I think that had a lot to do with the um, foundation of all this…” Spencer gulps and takes a deep breath.

Still silence.

_Keep going._

“You were married, straight, a work colleague, my boss, all which combined with the fact that I’ve _never_ dealt with emotions very well; I just…tried to get over it. Clearly I failed.” Spencer laughs coldly, and when he feels tears building his eyes; he doesn’t have to affect blurred vision anymore. “You never stopped being attractive and so…uniquely beautiful in your own way.” Spencer feels a hot blush flood his cheeks. “You never stopped being so unwaveringly loyal, never stopped making me want to be a better man and better agent, always a wonderful father, always made me feel…cared about even when I…when I felt I didn’t deserve it.” Spencer mutters, so badly wishing he could wipe away the tears tittering on the edge of spilling. “You care without pushing, mostly – actually, when you do push you can be more annoying than anyone, you’re very hard to get close to, you constantly underestimate yourself personally, and you really wear far too many suits.” _Shit. I did not mean to say that._ Spencer starts to tremble, both out of panic but also out of fighting the urge to look away.

Spencer breathes in slowly, and blinks away a few of his tears. Each word he utters feels like the breaking of his fingers over, and over again, but if this somehow ends up saving their lives? Spencer _will_ take the pain.

“Eventually, it became…easier, I guess, in some ways. How I felt, it didn’t matter – whenever I would see you smile, or satisfied at the end of a good case, no matter who you were…with, you were happy. And I guess, I _know_ , that made me happy.” His voice breaks. “Lately I’ve been having…difficulty keeping my feelings _away_ the way I had been doing for years, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” No shit. “There was a point when I thought they were gone, and yet…I don’t know why, but you are _such_ a persistent bastard and no matter what I do, no matter what I tell myself…You terrify me, how you make me feel terrifies me, I know I shouldn’t be but my heart has been in love with you for nearly ten years. And…I don’t see that changing any time soon. ”

Spencer finishes on a broken exhale, blinking away his tears, feeling much like a man sent to the emotional guillotine.

He can’t even begin to parse Hotch’s silent reaction.

_Did I really just say all that?_

_Was it enough?_

_It was the truth, but…_

It crossed his mind that Abitha may very well have been lying about the order of death by giving Spencer those two choices, because of that Spencer tried drawing it out as much as possible to continue buying them time.

And he didn’t have to lie once.

Spencer doesn’t have time to feel the true impact of what just happened however, Abitha walks back to stand in between them and looks at Spencer with a triumphant smile.

Spencer’s stomach drops.

_Oh no._

_Oh god, no!_

“Thank-you so much Dr. Reid, that was quite…interesting.” Abitha raises her to gun to point precisely at -

_Hotch._

“NO!” He wails.

Spencer again pulls hard at the chains, noticing the others for the first time in a few minutes – he sees them doing to the same with varying cries of outrage.

(Mason and Julian have long since faded to the background, silent, yet eagle spectres to it all.)

Hotch is utterly calm, he looks past Abitha towards Spencer.

Spencer thinks he notices Hotch mouthing something to him, but Spencer can’t see past the haze of terror.

_Please, please, something, anything, goddamnit!_

Abitha ignores all of them and puts her finger on the trigger.

And then, something miraculous transpires

“ _Abitha stop!_ ” Maeve screams.

Whether with actual intent or not, maybe just instinct, Spencer sees Maeve run fast to get between Abitha, her gun, and Hotch –

Abitha abruptly becomes stiff; eyes widened with scepticism. Her hand, currently wrapped tightly around the gun, begins to quiver.

“…Maeve?”

_What?_

Shock deluges Spencer’s system; eyes widening, brow high and mouth parted in a sharp gasp.

_She can… **see** her?_

Maeve on the other hand, doesn’t look surprised in the least; her eyes grow watery as she fixes Abitha with a steadfast glare and the entire tense line of her body screams ‘I am _not_ moving’.

If Abitha chooses to fire, it won’t matter and the bullet will simply go through Maeve as if she weren’t there at all.

Even so, seeing Maeve jump in front of Hotch like that, without hesitation…Spencer’s initial responses collided with each other; a mix of fear and relief, face awash with tears.

_I can’t believe she actually did that._

_What are you doing Maeve?_

Spencer’s heart twists with the thought that, despite everything, Maeve didn’t hesitate to put herself in the line of fire – even if only symbolically, to try and save someone _he_ loves, from a hand near to her own heart?

_What did I do to **ever** deserve her?_

Did Maeve know Abitha would be able to see her then? Or was it a very, very lucky guess.

Either way, as the reality of this starts to sink in - Spencer realizes that once again he is subject to one of the rarest truths of Guiding Spirit theology.

Two people, at the same point in time, sharing the same Guiding Spirit. An occurrence that as far as Spencer knows has only ever been officially recorded twice within the last three hundred years.

What makes it so rare, is that in order for a Guiding Spirit to show itself to two different people – it has to be; ultimately, the same reason for both, even if the journey that brought them to this place was dramatically different.

Like being unable to let someone go, whether through fear or guilt something else entirely, to the point where a person becomes trapped by their own selves.

Luke’s words from days ago echo inside Spencer’s head with a gentle rush;

_“…it didn’t matter if I saw him or not, he was always there, and he always would be until I found a way to live without the spectre of his memory holding me back. Sometimes, our Guardian Angels aren’t here for any other reason than to serve as a reminder, or warning of something or someone we need to let go of, because if you don’t find a way to - the pain, the denial, will hold you back. It nearly kept me from fulfilling what I wanted to do…”_

The implications of this startling development are right there blaring in Spencer’s mind, and if he has the chance he’ll deal with this later. No matter the _what_ or _why_ of any of it, the fact is that despite Aibtha’s shock her gun is still pointed at Hotch and Spencer knows he’ll never be able to calm down long enough to focus on anything else until _that_ changes.

“How, how is this _possible?_ You’re-” Abitha’s hand is outright shaking now, gun moving precariously in her grip. Spencer can’t see her face with her back to him, but her devastation is clear without him being able to see it.

“Yes, I am.” Maeve exhales softly, her own voice far from steady. Spencer can see her hands are clenched tightly into fists, her eyes an intense barrage of tormented emotion warring inside her.

Abitha’s painful recounting, Maeve heard it, _all_ of it…Spencer has never admired her strength more than he does in that moment.

Suddenly, Abitha’s shaky aim with the gun once again becomes a firm line.

“ _This is a trick!_ ” She shrieks. “You’re not real! You can’t…you _can’t_ be here. I need to-” Tears clog her voice.

Maeve doesn’t take her eyes off her.

“I’m – I’m very real, I _swear_ ,” Maeve swallows, taking a step towards the confused and distraught woman in front of her. “And…I remember y-you.” Childlike anguish settles sharp and familiar in Maeve’s eyes, and for a moment Spencer can clearly picture how she looked as a little girl. “You, you used to read me this story, the runaway bunny?” Maeve smiles, and breathes out a sad, gentle laugh.

Spencer knows the story. A young bunny tells his mother he is running away from home, turning into various things on his journey; a fish, a rock, a flower…experiencing the world for its beauty and life, until realizing that – no matter what – he would always be her little bunny, and so, the bunny comes home.

No matter Abitha’s crimes, Maeve obviously loved her very much.

And whatever his own tragedy here, the one that stands before Spencer in this scene of two women glued to each other (with the same pair of soft, warm grey eyes) is far more heartbreaking.

“My favourite book.” Abitha croaks. Her hand on the gun wavers, but still is not ready to fall.

“You called me little bunny.” Maeve takes a further step towards her, eyes shining.

“You…you were always my girl, my bunny.” Abitha trembles. “Then…then I _became_ the bunny.”

Maeve’s bites her lip hard, her hands twitching perceptibly.  “And now you’ve come back.” Maeve tilts her head, gazing at the woman in front of her with pleading eyes. “Please…”

Abitha is silent and doesn’t move.

This must seem very strange to everyone other than Spencer, hearing a one-sided conversation while this woman has a gun trained on Hotch.

Spencer notes that while they all look varying degrees of confused, none of them look surprised any longer; including Alex, JJ and Rossi.

Derek and Hotch are the only ones who seem to have a deeper awareness of what’s going on, gathering by the careful glances they keep shooting in his direction.

_I guess they didn’t tell them about Maeve being my Guiding Spirit too._

Mason and Julian however, Spencer had momentarily forgotten about them, look outward baffled and uneasy.

Mason walks toward Abitha.

“What’s going-”

As soon as he’s in reach, without taking her eyes off Maeve (as though afraid she’ll disappear the moment she does) she swings her arm out and hits Mason _hard_ upside the head with her gun.

Spencer flinches at the sound.

The man collapses, evidently unconscious and his own gun clatters away across the floor.

_She didn’t shoot him._

Spencer blinks curiously.

_Huh._

“What the hell-!” Julian rushes forward.

Abitha groans and points her gun at him. Wisely, the man stops moving and holds his hands up, gun dangling precariously in one of them.

“Come here.” She demands in that flat tone Spencer first heard from her.

Julian, of course, hesitates.

“Do _not_ make me ask again.” Her tone is utterly chilling in a way that puts Spencer even more on edge.

Julian seems genuinely afraid, but appears to decide listening to her is his best bet for survival. He slowly moves towards her.

Once he is within arm’s reach…

“Turn around.” Abitha bites out.

“Please don’t kill me.”

“Just do it.”

Julian says turns around with fear bright in his brown eyes, now with his back to her.

Maeve glances at the young man and back again with growing concern.

“Abitha-”

Before Maeve can finish, Abitha again raises her arm and –

Julian crumples at the blow, landing awkwardly on top of the other man, also unconscious.

Maeve glances down, a bit wrong-footed.

_Oh._

_Alright then._

They’re not out of the woods yet, and in some ways the abrupt turn of events could make this situation even more unpredictable, hence more unpredictable.

Spencer can’t deny though that, whatever Abitha’s motivations, it makes feel a little easier that their obstacles were just shortened by two. At least for now.

Throughout all this, Abitha never once takes her eyes off Maeve.

Her gun, still in her hand, at least now isn’t pointed at anything – or _anyone_ – except the ground.

Spencer allows himself a brief moment to close his eyes in relief, while reminding himself to not get complacent – not yet.

Maeve’s presence could very well be the trigger that causes Abitha to act on her original plan, but maybe, possibly, could be what saves all their lives.

Spencer’s own sense of self-preservation is low, but so long as the others get out of this alive, and Spencer never sees another gun pointed point blank at Hotch ever again – Spencer can live, or die, with that.

Spencer then notices Abitha lift her free hand towards Maeve.

Maeve carefully does not move as Abitha’s fingers move through Maeve’s face like water.

The sound that escapes her mouth is gut-wrenching regardless of their hazardous situation.

Out of the corner of his eye Spencer notices Derek making very deliberate movements with his hands.

Spencer is distracted from that though when Maeve speaks; tone desperate.

“Abitha, please, _please_ don’t hurt them. Let them go.”

Abitha shifts oddly on her feet.

“But…they _hurt you!_ ” Her voice, incredulous, rises significantly.

Maeve holds up her hands.

“No, no they didn’t. They helped me; they tried their best to save-”

“ _He might as well have killed you!_ ” Abitha wails and suddenly the gun is up again, only this time it is directed at Spencer, and for the first time in the past few minutes Abitha tears her eyes away from Maeve to glower at Spencer.

The entire room freezes.

Spencer tenses.

_Better than the other way around._

For some reason, Spencer looks up at Hotch then. Maybe his train of thought is obvious, because Hotch looks genuinely distressed and shakes his head firmly.

_No. It’s not._

Spencer looks away.

“No, no, Abitha he _didn’t._ ” Maeve anxiously moves to move in front of the gun, much like she did with Hotch; only this time her arms are held out to, uselessly, protect Spencer. Abitha’s face is carefully shuttered, her eyes dart back and forth between Maeve and Spencer. “All Spencer did was love me, and I him, our situation…he, we did your best, and that includes _them_.” Maeve gestures at JJ, Rossi, Derek, Alex and Hotch painfully chained to the wall.

Abitha doesn’t turn to look.

She doesn’t say anything as her eyes narrow at Maeve, but otherwise Spencer can’t get a read on what she might be thinking.

_Definitely not out of the woods yet._

Maeve seems to sense that as well, because she continues.

“Diane Turner is the one that killed me. You _must_ know that.” Abitha’s eyebrow twitching is the only acknowledgement of that she gives. “I have…I have so many regrets.” Spencer feels the tears of heartbreak in her voice like they are his own.

Spencer clenches the broken fingers of his hand, the pain making his eyes water and teeth clench, but it distracts him from the other feelings rampant within him.

On Abitha’s face, Spencer sees twin tears silently fall from her withered face.

“But him…”

Spencer inhales sharply when Maeve turns to look up at him.

He feels the love and intensity of her gaze like a twisting knife to his heart, and Spencer meets her eyes unwaveringly.

Maeve smiles at him, wide and genuine in spite of the sadness present on her face.

Spencer’s mouth parts with a broken breath and he swallows the stone in his throat.

_My stomach must be a rock garden menagerie at this point._

“-him,” Maeve continues, still looking at him with that melancholy smile. “Him I don’t regret, no matter what came of it, knowing him…I _wouldn’t change a thing_. I can’t regret whatever brought him into my life, and he shouldn’t either.” Maeve’s eyes turn to resolute fire, and Spencer knows she isn’t only speaking to Abitha.

Tears fall freely from Spencer’s eyes.

_I loved you, so much, I’m sorry._

At this point, he’s not even sure exactly what he’s apologizing for.

The only thing holding Spencer up at is the handcuffs attached to the hoop, digging sharply into his wrists as Spencer sags.

Their eyes break when Abitha cries out.

“No…no no no _no!_ ” Abitha hysterically shakes her head, gun still pointed towards Spencer, although her hand is now visibly shaking.

Maeve looks at Abitha imploringly, hands held together over her own heart.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that this…all of it happened to you, I wish I would’ve known – all of it, I would’ve tried to find you.” Maeve cries. Abitha looks like she’s on the verge of breaking down altogether. “Mother, sister, you were my world for the first five years of my life. I loved you, and I never stopped mourning you.”

Abitha begins to openly sob.

“But, but…you were taken away, they, they didn’t _save_ you. The _world_ was supposed to _save_ you, you…I held you in my arms, and you were perfect.” Abitha is crying and shaking so hard that the gun in her hand is on the verge of falling. “I couldn’t save you, and they _failed_ in their duty, they have to be-”

“No.” Maeve practically shouts. “They tried to save me. Please, for me, _please_ don’t kill them-”

Abitha just shakes her head. “You’re dead, you’re dead-” She grows angry again. “If they did more, if you hadn’t met-”

“Then I would probably still be dead.” Maeve utters quietly. Abitha shakes her head. “I was already being stalked when Spencer and I met, I don’t know what would’ve happened had I not met Spencer, and neither do you.” Maeve again glances pointedly at Spencer, pleads desperately with the shaking woman in front of her – and Spencer feels, with him as well. Spencer feels the ache deep in his chest; _I don’t know what to do without this._ “But, I am _sure_ something would’ve happened regardless.”

Abitha closes her eyes and continues to shake her head over, and over, mumbling no repeatedly under breath.

Maeve inhales unevenly. “What I know for sure is that, if you kill them, _him_ -” Without taking her eyes off Abitha, Maeve gestures purposefully at Spencer. “I die all over again.” Abitha visibly flinches. “And then _you’ll_ die, you _won’t_ make it out of this alive. Please, please don’t make me lose you again Abitha, _please_. I _beg_ you.” Maeve implores.

And that, _that_ is what seems to get through to her.

But not in the way any of them expect, although in hindsight Spencer feels he should’ve seen it coming.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I tried, so hard; this was the only way I could…do something for you.” Abitha slowly lowers the gun shaking in her hand. “I wanted you Maeve. I wanted you the minute I saw you, she who intoxicates – you were my only joy. But I never wanted you to see _me._ ” Abitha stumbles backwards, trembling all over. “You were never supposed to see me.”

A bad feeling begins to build in Spencer’s gut, and Maeve appears to sense it to. She scowls and walks with uncertain steps toward Abitha.

Spencer thinks he hears a loud thud just when Abitha lifts to the gun to - her _own head._

Spencer’s eyes widen.

Maeve _screams._

And then several things happen simultaneously.

Spencers jaw drops in shock when _Derek_ comes rushing over – several of his fingers bent at unnatural angles.

He side tackles Abitha right _before_ the gun goes off; causing the bullet to careen off its intended course and shoot through the ceiling instead.

The suddenness of the movement causes the gun to go flying out of her hand – and a set of keys to fall out of her pants pocket.

Derek is pinning her down firmly, holding her arms tightly against the small of her back – fighting through the pain.

“No! Why, why, why, _no…!_ ” Abitha wails loudly, struggling and trying to flop herself towards the gun - only stilling when she sees Maeve kneel beside her.

Spencer, and surely the others too, watch all this completely stunned.

“Abitha, it’s ok. They’ll get you help.” Maeve moves to lie down on her side next to Abitha, reaching out with fingertips just out of reach.

“My bunny…” Is all Abitha utters before starting to sob uncontrollably.

It’s when her entire body just… _slumps_ , that Spencer realizes the importance of it.

_She’s given up._

Still steadfastly holding Abitha down by sitting on her and holding her arms together with one hand, Derek is able to reach over to the keys that fell a short distance away.

They look like keys to handcuffs.

Spencer notices for the first time Derek still a pair dangling from one hand.

He won’t be able to unlock them to secure Abitha with, while still holding onto her.

Spencer eyes the broken, wretched form of Abitha lying nose to nose with Maeve.

His heart pangs.

“She’s not going to move.” Spencer observes. Derek looks up at him doubtfully. “She won’t.” Spencer is sure.

Derek frowns, but obviously trusts him because he cautiously releases Abitha, ready to grab her if she tries to escape.

She doesn’t.

_This time, I’m glad to be right._

Derek seems satisfied and unlocks the cuffs on his own hands. Abitha doesn’t fight it when Derek then attaches them on her wrists; his uselessly bent fingers fumble a little, but he does manage, barely – Spencer winces when he sees the forced movement pull his already damaged fingers further away from their sockets.

Derek curses and immediately stands up.

Spencer doesn’t watch what he’s doing, eyes glued to the women below him.

He does peripherally notice Derek bend down, carefully pick something up and begin speaking urgently.

_The mic._

Spencer finally allows himself to _breathe._

However, he doesn’t feel the flood of relief like he would’ve expected after they all basically escaped death, and to top it off no one seems to have any serious wounds.

Well, not physical ones.

Don’t get him wrong, Spencer is relieved beyond words none of them are dead.

_Aaron…I bared my soul, but – thank whatever powers that be you’re alive._

Yet, as he stares at Maeve and Abitha near his feet, murmuring gently to each other – Spencer can’t help but be drawn into the devastating tragedy surround them.

Some of Abitha’s words float up to him.

“Don’t leave; please…don’t leave…”

Even more tears fall from Spencer’s eyes.

“Shh, shh.” Maeve murmurs calmly in response, lightly patting the floor beside her head.

Spencer hadn’t noticed that while he’d been distracted by Maeve and Abitha, Derek released Hotch before handing the keys to him, and continued to relay their situation into the mic.

Hotch then released Rossi, the two of them quickly and carefully detached Alex and JJ from the wall; settling Alex carefully on the floor, while JJ examined her injured foot.

Spencer only tears his eyes away when Hotch enters his field of vision, at the same time noticing that not only are the others free but Mason and Julian (directly behind Hotch) are still unconscious now with two pairs of handcuffs surrounding their wrists.

Spencer stares as Hotch; the man isn’t quite looking at him, silently reaches up and – slowly – undoes the handcuff around his injured hand.

He groans painfully when his arms fall from the hoop and would’ve collapsed, if Hotch hadn’t been prepared and catches him swiftly and carefully around his waist; helping Spencer steady himself on shaky legs.

Hotch still doesn’t look him in the eye when he gently lifts Spencers other hand and unlocks the last handcuff, the offending metal falls away entirely and Hotch absentmindedly puts the keys in his pocket.

_Why isn’t he looking at me?_

Spencer swallows nervously.

As if Hotch somehow heard that thought, he chooses then to look at him.

Their close proximity doesn’t escape Spencer’s notice, especially with the knowledge that he just confessed his love for the man standing in front of him (although under duress, what he said was nonetheless true) in painful, _embarrassing_ detail.

And that wasn’t even half of it.

Spencer tries to ignore the fear tightening his throat, when Hotch looks at him silently with an unreadable expression for a moment.

“How’s your hand?” Hotch asks.

Spencer blinks.

Oh, I’d nearly forgotten about that.

Spencer looks down at his hand, throbbing in pain, and winces.

“I have three broken fingers.”

Hotch frowns, but whatever he had been about to say is interrupted when a slew of people enter the cabin; Emily, Tara, Luke and Will, along with police and S.W.A.T.

JJ immediately jumps when she sees Will and the two run to each and embrace each other tightly.

The rest all greet each other in relief, _they’re safe._

Hotch is called over by someone, but he glances at Spencer first.

Heart in his throat, _later_ ,  Spencer says, “I’m fine.”

Hotch nods after a few seconds, and appears to accept the answer – for now. He walks to the cacophony of people and away from Spencer.

Spencer takes a deep breath and looks back towards Abitha, and Maeve.

A couple S.W.A.T. officers are kneeling and assessing the prostrate, silent Abitha; her eyes unblinkingly glued to Maeve still muttering and lying beside her.

When they try to take her away, Abitha screams.

“ _NO!_ ” Her voice is so loud and sudden it silences the entire room.

At first Spencer thinks it’s because of the two men pulling her away, but then Spencer looks at –

Spencer stiffens, eyes wide and breathing heavy.

_Maeve._

She’s on her knees, still softly watching Abitha, but her form is flickering in and out, faster and faster, like an old light bulb on the verge of dying.

Only…Maeve is already dead.

Spencer knows immediately what this means, and the lance of pain he feels surprises even him.

Her purpose has been fulfilled.

_She’s leaving._

For good this time.

The two men don’t understand, and begin pulling Abitha away again – she fights them then, screaming.

The men become rougher, and Spencer panics.

“Wait!” He shouts, heart beating loudly in his ears. They, miraculously stop, and stare at him in disbelief.

Spencer is suddenly speechless, _what the hell do I say? Let her go for a minute because the spirit of my dead girlfriend and her daughter is about to vanish?_

Spencer can scarcely think the word himself without wanting to cry, _how_ – Spencer suddenly looks up into the small crowd and finds Hotch.

_He’ll know._

Spencer just mouths her name, _Maeve._

Hotch’s brow puzzled brow smooths out after he registers this, and takes him hardly any time at all to put two and two together, glancing between Abitha and Spencer.

Hotch nods firmly.

“Excuse me, sirs?” He calls out. “I need to talk with you about the situation.”

The two S.W.A.T. members hesitate, but ultimately listen to Hotch and carefully let go of Abitha and leave her weeping on the floor.

 _I love you so much_ , Spencer thinks to himself before quickly turning to face Abitha and Maeve. The latter of who is becoming fainter by the second.

Spencer blocks out the rest of the room and falls to his knees beside them.

Maeve notices Spencer, though her form is less distinct now – like bad T.V. reception, her smile is still one of the brightest things he’s ever seen.

“ _Thank-you_.” Her voice echoes as though through water.

Spencer can’t take his eyes off her.

_She’s…this will be the last…_

Tears fall silently down his cheeks, much like Abitha.

“I realized half of why I was here a while ago, but now…” Maeve trails off. “I know fully why.” She smiles sadly at the two of them. “To help you,” Maeve looks at both Spencer and Abitha. “ _both_ of you, forgive yourselves.”

Spencer blinks away more tears and bites his lip, looking down for a moment.

_I wish I could hold you._

_Just…just once._

“Before both of you did something you would come to regret.”

Abitha whimpers and tries to move closer to Maeve. Without a thought Maeve moves closer and lays her hand near Abitha’s face.

“Don’t go, I’m sorry. Forgive me.” Abitha mutters. Whether through sheer exhaustion or other overwhelming emotions, Abitha falls asleep by Maeve’s side, but not before she whispers a few final words to Maeve. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Maeve breathes out. “I’m sorry I have to go…” Maeve gulps, look at her _mother_ with sadness. “Any forgiveness I show you is useless if you don’t forgive yourself.” Maeve murmurs.

The words hit him hard.

She’s not wrong.

Spencer, he…he doesn’t know _how_ to forgive himself.

And she’s still visible but fading fast.

_It won’t be long now._

Maeve looks up at Spencer.

When their eyes meet, both everything and nothing is said; their brief time together, in life and death, is heavy on both their minds, and hearts.

Maeve ripples away to almost nothing, but he can still see her…barely.

Spencers lip trembles, and his good hand clenches tightly against his thigh.

The last thing Maeve sees shouldn’t have to be his look of utter devastation, not again.

It _is_ different this time, and not just because of the nature of circumstance surrounding them, he’s getting a chance to properly say goodbye.

No matter his pain, Spencer will always be grateful for that.

“I was with him, you know.”

Spencer’s brow furrows in confusion. “Wha-”

“Aaron.”

He inhales sharply. _Oh._

_Wait – what?_

Fortunately, Maeve answers so Spencer doesn’t have to ask.

“Several times, when I was around you – it wasn’t just because I needed time alone, or I was hiding.” Maeve sighs. “I didn’t realize why at first, or even how, but I would periodically appear near him for a short time, not of my own volition initially. Once I saw you together, and over time, more and more I realized why. I was here for you, right?” Maeve grins a little, and tilts her head. “And a part of _you_ , is with him.”

Spencer just…blinks, totally bewildered.

_What does **that** even mean?_

_Because she saw that I love him?_

_Or…_

“I don’t understand.” He whispers, feeling lost in every possible way.

Maeve smiles kindly.

“Do you know? What it is you need to stop yourself from doing?” Maeve asks him softly; a tinny quality to her voice now.

Spencer swallows and shuts his tight for a moment; cradling his broken hand to his chest.

_Do I?_

_Yes, you do._

_You know you do._

_Now, you just need to admit it._

_I don’t know if I can._

_She wouldn’t be leaving if you weren’t capable._

Spencer exhales a shuddering breath.

_“Let it dissolve.” Dream Maeve whispers to him…_

_“Into what?” He asks._

_“That is for you to decide.”_

Spencer opens his eyes; tears balance delicately on his lashes.

Maeve is still here, waiting patiently – and in many ways, far more _angel-like_ than she was before.

She looks… _peaceful._

Spencer blinks.

That does help, surprisingly.

Maybe now, when Spencer dreams of her, he’ll see her face as it is now; warm, smiling with only the barest hint of melancholy, and not the fear filled eyes that have haunted him for years.

“Spencer, please promise me something.” Maeve’s voice contains a sense of urgency now.

He quickly looks up at her, startled to see she is almost completely gone; only the barest glimmer of her remains.

“Yes, yes anything I promise.” Spencer breathlessly responds; mouth parted, eyes red, and tears in rivulets down his cheeks.

“For _your_ sake, don’t use me as an excuse to hold yourself back, try your hardest not to close yourself off, from anything – or anyone. Spencer, _please._ ” Maeve’s voice is scarce above a whisper.

Spencer huffs out a broken sob.

Maeve reaches out rippling hand, and holds her palm flat in the air over his heart.

Spencer looks down and nods.

_Answer her._

“Yes. I – I promise.”

He hears Maeve sigh, softly like a gentle breeze.

“I love you.”

Spencer clenches his eyes for only a moment.

_I never got to tell her I love her, instead I only got the chance to say I don’t…I knew she knew I was lying, but –_

“Maeve.” Spencer looks up.

She isn’t there.

Spencer panics, but then -

“I’m still here, but not for very long.” Her voice echoes all around him.

He exhales in relief.

“I love you too, you know that right?” Spencer says to the air.

_You need to know that. At least once._

The words feel different to him now than they did years ago, the _love_ he feels for her is different, and the kind that will always leave a mark on your soul no matter how the rest ripples and changes.

Maybe Spencer is _lucky_ to have loved, and love, two people like that.

And _not_ cursed.

“I have always known.”

Those are her last words to him.

Spencer feels something very much like a punch hit his chest, and he closes his eyes.

“Goodbye.” He sighs.

Spencer feels one more tear fall as only quiet responds.

He tries to let everything sink in…but he suspects that will be a slow process. Spencer knew it was only a matter of time before she was gone, and he had expected to feel empty once she was.

But…Spencer doesn’t know _what_ he feels, but emptiness isn’t it.

Unexpectedly, a feeling breaks through his bubble.

A hand gently touching his shoulder.

_I know you._

Spencer sighs.

“Is she gone?” Hotch softly asks.

He nods once.

Soon after Spencer hears, and feels, someone kneel next to him and carefully reach out with both arms.

_I know you._

Spencer doesn’t have any energy left to stop it. He collapses sideways onto Hotch and sobs into his warm, sturdy chest.

The gentle arms that encircle him, rather than make him cry harder, help him settle. Soon Spencer is merely exuding soft whimpers, holding tightly to Hotch’s shirt with his one decent hand.

For once, no matter what comes after – being held by the man he loves feels him with something other than shame.

Spencer has certainly not _forgotten_ where they are, or the many people still in the room; accidental onlookers to everything. He simply doesn’t care.

Eventually he becomes aware of movement happening around him, and then feels other hands touching him, in brief yet supportive gestures; on his head, shoulder, and arm – wherever they can reach with Spencer curled into Hotch the way he is.

Like Hotch’s, Spencer would know those touches anywhere; the team, his friends, his _family._

They fade away, probably leaving the cabin.

As much as a part of Spencer may want to, he can’t stay here forever.

With that in mind, Spencer carefully pulls away; mindful of his throbbing, broken fingers.

He glances behind him – Abitha isn’t there.

_I didn’t even notice her being moved._

Spencer frowns and turns back to face Hotch.

“Will carried her out.” Hotch answers the obvious question.

“Oh.”

_I should…keep an eye on her._

_For Maeve._

Hotch eyes him carefully with concern palpable in his demeanour.

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer shakes his head.

“So am I, but…” He takes in a deep, steady breath. “I’ll be fine.”

And he means it; broken fingers, battered heart and all.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

 

_"Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”_

_~ Maya Angelou_

 

 

 

_Two weeks later._

 

Spencer has been in the park nearest to his apartment building for several hours now, situated on a bench in his favourite spot; on the edge of a pond, adjacent to a huge willow tree.

The small cast covering half his hand was thankfully reduced to something a little less cumbersome a few days, now at the very least reading is much easier – although driving will still be out of sight for a while yet.

Physically, Spencer looks very much the same; although he’s allowed several days’ worth of scruff to grow in addition to getting his hair trimmed into a more manageable length.

All those changes are small, and superficial.

Emotionally, and mentally – Spencer is still not the healthiest person alive, two weeks isn’t truly enough time to move on from years of self-imposed guilt among other things.

However, Spencer feels so much…freer, than he has in a long, long time.

A little bit of that weight he’d carried for so long, lifts away a little more each day.

The world, his state of heart and mind doesn’t feel as oppressive to his sanity as it once did.

So yes, very little and yet at the same time everything has changed.

For the most part everyone is just fine after the traumatic events of two weeks ago, those who were kidnapped came out of it with relatively minor injuries.

Alex went back to Boston, and once they were officially back on leave, many of the team left on vacations. Emily went back to England to wrap up a few things from her former life, and Garcia went with Tara and Luke (surprisingly enough) to Arizona. Spencer almost wanted to be a fly on the wall for that road trip. And Rossi left a few days ago to spend a few weeks with his daughter and her family.

Derek went to where Savannah and Hank were staying with their parents shortly after everything was resolved here, and hasn’t come back yet.

Apparently they plan on revealing some big news to them once they return.

The only ones currently staying in Virginia are JJ and her family, Hotch and Jack, and of course Spencer. He has made plans to go visit his mother next month, which he is very happy about. It really has been too long since he’s seen her.

As for Abitha and the others…

Mason and Julian have been charged and have begun the often long wait for a trial, and Abitha is currently being held in a secure hospital while undergoing weeks of careful examination into her mental health, otherwise all Spencer currently knows about her is that the DA will be pressing charges regardless – however, they will be lenient _given_ her mental state and other recommendations from certain individuals.

Including Spencer himself.

He owes Maeve that much.

Thinking of her carries a different feeling to it now, the feeling Spencer felt after she vanished into the ether in that cabin came to him the next day; closure. Whereas before, the memory of her in his heart was like a door that never quite closed properly, no matter how much it hurt to say to do – to say _goodbye_ – that door is closed.

She will always be a part of him; on some level he will always miss her, but…the way he is now…Living _with_ the pain of her loss, rather than feeling _encumbered_ by it…its good.

Not everything is perfect, not that Spencer ever expects to be – that would just be foolish, but whatever happens now one thing is certain.

Even with other things continuing to press on his mind, Spencer Reid is happier than he’s been in a long, long time.

Maybe it makes him an old man, ignoring the fact that he’s in his thirties, coming to the park to read.

He doesn’t care.

The environment is peaceful, and relaxing. Two things his life has been lacking for months, if not years.

When Spencer woke up today, and the first thing he noticed was how beautiful the day was, he immediately gathered as many books in a bag as he could possible carry without straining himself, dressed in his lightest white shirt and baggy, pale blue pants, and walked over to the park.

Of course he stopped to get himself coffee on the way, indulging in a raspberry white chocolate muffin too.

It is warm enough that Spencer didn’t need to bother with a coat. So the only items lying beside him on the otherwise empty bench are the bag of books on his right that he has yet to read, and to his left a pile of roughly equal size with ones he has read.

Two of the books he brought today are The Narrative of John Smith and his Latin Horace Odes.

He didn’t exactly plan too, but nevertheless, they are in his bag.

Spencer breathes deeply, leans back against the bench, and takes in the scenery.

It really is a good day.

Hopefully it lasts this time.

Spencer’s lips quirk in a small, pleased smile. He puts aside his most recently finished book and without really paying attention to what, picks up another.

When he notices it is the Latin Horace Odes, Spencer breathes in shakily with only the faintest whisper of surprise.

Hotch may not have given him this book, Spencer had it long before he even met him, but ever since “that day” this book has been irrevocably tied to his love for the man. And Spencer suspects it always will.

 _That’s_ another change; Spencer has found himself frequently explicitly stating, and thinking of his feelings for Hotch the past two weeks; even if only in his own head.

Hard not to when, under duress or not, you end up baring your soul in painful detail to them.

Because of that, Spencer has since found it impossible to compartmentalize his feelings the way he used to. Brought fully from his subconscious to his conscious mind by recent experiences, what he feels and who he loves is here to stay.

In truth, Spencer hasn’t really tried all that hard to fight that.

So far, it is Maeve’s words that have stopped him, each time fear and old guilt threatened to take old…

_“I realized half of why I was here a while ago, but now…I know why…To help you…both of you, forgive yourselves...Before both of you did something you would come to regret.”_

_“Any forgiveness I show you is useless if you don’t forgive yourself.”_

_“For your sake, don’t use me as an excuse to hold yourself back, try your hardest not to close yourself off, from anything – or anyone. Spencer, please.”_

Surprisingly, Spencer found that once he _stopped_ trying to fight himself so hard – it became easier to breathe, easier to think, and easier to _deal._

_Who knew? And yeah I know, I know, that was a rhetorical inner comment, no need to say anything._

_I wasn’t going to; I think you’re doing just fine now._

Even his mind has become a little more diplomatic. Miracles do happen.

All that doesn’t mean Spencer is without pain however, oh far from it. It only takes peering closely at the book he holds tightly in his hands to prove that much.

The difference now is that he knows how to deal with it, properly, instead of ignoring it - or at least, he’s learning to.

He still has no idea how to move forward necessarily, but…

“One step at a time.” Spencer sighs, lightly stroking the book cover with one finger.

At the very least, Spencer no longer believes (…mostly, as he said, he still has that fear) that anything he could say now would cause Hotch to cast him off.

Even though Spencer hasn’t seen or spoken to Hotch since the immediate aftermath of what happened, and they certainly haven’t been alone for quite some time, Spencer suspects that is less about Hotch avoiding him as result over what Spencer confessed in that cabin and more about giving _Spencer_ space.

At least, that is what Rossi told him shortly before he left to visit his daughter – that and nothing else.

 _“He is ready to talk to you, but you will have to approach him.”_ Rossi had said to him.

Since then Spencer has been trying to work up the courage to contact Hotch, but he hasn’t yet…because like he said, Spencer hasn’t decided how to move forward.

This limbo between them can’t last much longer, one way or another they will have to find a way past this, because first and foremost – they _are_ friends.

Part his fear is because Spencer, as if to balance everything else out, is even _less_ sure of Hotch’s stance than he used to be.

Spencer reflects on Hotch’s recent behaviour and actions, and even with an objective stand point he can’t figure the man out.

He’d come to the conclusion that was probably by design, it’s true – one never can truly know what Hotch thinks and feels to the fullest degree, until the man explicitly shares himself with you.

Spencer knows though, that the only thing that will allow him to take that final step and confront Hotch, if only to air out what happened and move past it, is the surety that no matter what Spencer says, Hotch won’t abandon him.

If the man can handle being told another by man, not to mention a younger one who was his employee for many years, that he loves him and still hasn’t written him off.

Well, Spencer did say that Hotch is unwaveringly loyal.

That Spencer is a subject of that loyalty is something he doubts he will ever _not_ be flabbergasted by.

His heart beats anxious, yet happy staccato in his chest.

The fact that, apparently, Hotch is giving _him_ space after what happened – essentially allowing _Spencer_ to decide how he wants to approach it…

“If I didn’t already love you, you bastard.” Spencer whispers with a fond shake of his head, despite the fear lingering in the corners of his heart.

At least if Hotch lets him down, it will be gently. That really depends on how Spencer decides to handle it.

_I really do need to decide._

Spencer exhales shakily, still holding tightly onto the book.

_I just…I wouldn’t even know where to start._

Spencer isn’t exactly experienced in this area.

Maeve’s words once again come to him like blessed relief.

_“Spencer, all I’m saying that if there is one person you can trust to unburden yourself to – you need to do it. At the very least it would be a step…”_

Can he do it?

Ask for advice about to proceed with this and _not_ get self-conscious?

Spencer grimaces.

No, probably not.

_But if I can’t talk to someone else about it, how am I ever going to talk to Hotch? Besides, I don’t need to go into detail exactly…_

_For once, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have help._

_But who would I talk to?_

Before he’s even finished the thought, Spencer knows exactly who he can call.

Spencer squeezes the book tightly. “Just do it.”

And so, before Spencer can freak out and change his mind, he puts the book aside and pulls out his phone; dialing the number with trembling fingers.

There are a few rings; meanwhile Spencer tries to calm the increasingly anxious beating of his heart by holding himself tightly with one arm and tapping his foot repeatedly on the grass.

He hears a click.

“Spencer? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” Her voice echoes in his ear as surprised, but nonetheless pleased.

“Hello Alex.” Spencer smiles shyly, but it quickly fades as Spencer feels his palms begin to sweat.

_Ok, why am I freaking out already?_

_Could be because in calling her, you’ve officially made the choice to talk to Aaron?_

Spencer exhales shakily.

_Apparently so._

“I’m glad to hear from you, I am, but you sound…off, are you ok?”

“No, but, not in a _bad_ way just…” Spencer lifts his hand rubs his forehead. _I’m scared._ He takes comfort in the gentle patience of Alex’s breathing, waiting for him to find his words. “Are you alright to talk?”

“For you? Any time,” Spencer can practically hear the smile in her voice, and can’t help but feel warm at her caring. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

“I won’t take up a lot of your time, I just need some advice.” Spencer takes a deep breath and leans his head completely onto the back of the bench, staring up at the soft, dangling willow tree branches swaying above his head.

“Alright, go ahead.” There is definitely something knowing in her tone.

She was _there_ after all, maybe she’s figured out where Spencer is going with his – even if slowly.

Maybe Spencer shouldn’t pussyfoot around this anymore, like he did when explaining himself to Luke about Maeve.

Spencer knows he only needs to say one word, and Alex will know _exactly_ what advice he’s asking for without going into too much detail.

“Hotch.” He murmurs.

“ _Ah_.” Alex hums thoughtfully, silent for a moment.

Spencer stares down at his lap while he waits for her to formulate a response.

“Well, I think a good first step would be to not put such high expectations on yourself. In this instance, you could be the biggest, fumbling idiot on the planet and he would still be a perfect gentleman and not judge you for it.”

Spencer snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Alex sighs, but Spencer can hear the humour there. In a way, it makes this easier. “The point is, there is no right or wrong way to go about it here, and any suggestions I could give you would be clichés at best. The two of you already have a solid foundation of friendship which I firmly believe will carry you through no matter what becomes of the rest. In that way, you are very lucky.”

Spencer is silent in thought for a moment.

“I know that’s not overly helpful,” Alex continues. “I believe though that your instincts will guide you through this.”

 “Those are kind of scrambled right now…” Spencer sighs. “But I do know what you mean.”

“Ok, then may I give you one last piece of advice?” Alex calmly suggests.

Spencer nods, even though she can’t see him. “Yeah, of course.” _I need any help I can get._ Funny, how just a few weeks ago asking for help filled him with sick dread, and now…

_One step at a time._

“Whenever you decide to talk to him, don’t go into the conversation with an outcome or assumption of how it will go already in mind – negative, or otherwise.”

That…will be hard for him.

_I can try at least._

“Thank-you Alex.” He means it sincerely.

“Anytime, take care and good luck.” Spencer pictures Alex smiling.

“You too, say hi to Toni for me.” Spencer got the chance to meet her via webcam last week, for whatever reason the little girl had taken an immediate shine to him.

Alex wasn’t surprised of course, but she was biased.

“I will, you’ll be fine Spencer. Love you.”

 _I hope so._ Spencer smiles. “Love you too.”

They hang up.

Spencer automatically goes to put his phone back in his pocket but stops.

_Why not now?_

_I’m probably never going to be truly ready for this conversation._

_Might as well get it over with._

Spencer closes his eyes and swallows.

_Breathe, just breathe._

He opens his eyes and opens text messaging on his phone. If Spencer hears Hotch’s voice before he’s in front of him…he might chicken out.

Spencer hovers a trembling thumb over Hotch’s name.

_Do it._

He lightly presses on Hotch’s name and before Spencer can back out, he types a short text and presses send – immediately feeling nauseas.

_Can we talk? – S_

Hours must crawl by while Spencer clutches and stares at his phone.

However, in reality Spencer scarcely has to wait longer than half a minute before Hotch is responding.

Spencer blinks when his phone pings loudly with an incoming text.

“That was fast.” He mutters and opens it.

_Of course, when and where? – H_

_Ok, ok, don’t panic._ Spencer continues to forcefully take deep breaths, and glances around at the relatively empty area of the park before making his decision.

_Now? At the park near my building. Under the willow tree – S_

Spencer takes one hand on the phone and begins deeply stroking the top of his leg anxiously tapping against the ground; his eyes glued to the little grey ellipsis indicating Hotch is typing.

_Alright. I just need to see if Jessica can look after Jack while we talk. – H_

_Shit._ Spencer curses and quickly types back. _I nearly forgot about Jack._

_It’s ok, don’t worry about it. It can wait for another time if you’re busy. – S_

_Spencer. I know this is important. It’s fine. – H_

Spencer still feels antsy and a bit bad now, but…he sighs.

_Ok. I’ll be here for a while, whenever you’re ready. – S_

_Jessica is here. I’ll be there in ten minutes. – H_

Spencer blinks slowly.

 _Ten minutes?_ _Christ, I just want to talk it’s not like I’m on fire._

Still, if Hotch suspects what Spencer wishes to talk with him about – which, considering present evidence seems likely – maybe he’s eager to get this over with too.

A few minutes later, Spencer is still holding onto his phone, well and truly _panicking._

 _Shit, shit._ “Oh god…” Spencer pants, and puts his head in his hands; leg still tapping away.

_How the hell am I going to do this?_

_I need to relax at least a little before Hotch gets here or I’ll never be able to say a word._

Then, before Spencer really registers what he’s doing, he pulls up another name and impulsively calls.

Like with Alex, the answer is almost immediate.

“Hi Spence! What’s going on?” JJ huffs a little, like she was running.

_Why did I call her? Why?_

Spencer breathes in shakily.

“I’m just, calling to see how the boys are.”

“You saw them this morning, they’re fine.” Spencer can practically feel the suspicion and worry dripping through the phone. “Spence, are you ok?”

“I’m going to talk to him.” Spencer winces and rests his head in one palm while he talks to her.

“Oh…” JJ exhales slowly. “How are you feeling?” Concern tinges her voice.

“Wretched.” Spencer groans, a bit muffled from his hand.

“Hey, whatever happens, we love you and our door is always open alright? Henry insists on baking today, so I could always use your help for damage control if you need somewhere to go after…” JJ trails off.

_Yeah, after I emotionally batter myself._

Spencer smiles fondly at the image.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Spencer?”

Spencer freezes.

_That’s…not JJ._

He jumps in surprise and whips around to look behind him.

Hotch is standing there patiently; face unreadable as ever, yet Spencer thinks he sees traces of something akin to amusement.

Spencer really hopes he just arrived.

“JJ, I have to go.” Spencer mutters into the phone without taking his eyes off Hotch.

He thinks he hears her squeak. “He’s there isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t keep you then, good luck. Love you.”

“Love you too JJ.”

Without another word he hangs up.

Neither of them says anything at first, as sunlight, wind and birds colour the air around them.

Hotch seems to be waiting for him.

Breathe.

Spencer swallows deeply and turns away as he slides further to one end of the bench.

“Sit.” Spencer winces at the way he said it, practically an order. _Great start._

Quickly Spencer moves one of his piles of books out of the way to his other side as Hotch rounds the bench.

Spencer notices Hotch eyes his overflowing pile of books with a raised brow and twitch of his lips, right before sitting down beside him.

Hotch is also not wearing a jacket; electing to wear a blue t-shirt and casual jeans today.

_Didn’t I say he wears too many suits at one point?_

_Goddamnit._

Hotch is staring at him.

Waiting.

Spencer looks down at his lap and starts to anxiously pick his nails.

_Now what?_

_I don’t know what to do._

_I’m fucking terrified._

“How’s Jack?” Spencer asks, not looking at Hotch, when the silence gets to be too much.

“He’s doing well.”

Again, silence.

_Fantastic…that bought me, oh…ten seconds?_

_How is the man so content to wait?_

_I wish I were that patient._

Spencer takes a deep breath, and tries to match the rhythm of Hotch’s breathing in effort to focus himself.

It helps, a little.

Spencer exhales. _You can do this._

_We’ll see._

“I assume you know why I wanted to talk?”

Spencer hears Hotch hum.

“I think I do.” He says the words slowly, not quite sure.

Spencer can’t figure out anything definitive in his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye Spencer spots Hotch shift a bit on the bench. Spencer continues to stare at the ground and clasps his hands tightly together between his knees.

“I thought we should talk about, what I said at the cabin.”

Hotch hums.

_Ok, if take any more pauses I’ll never get through this._

_Best to just get it all out there at once._

“I meant - _mean_ everything I said, duress or not – every word was the truth. However, regardless of all that, I have no expectations on you to say or do anything, I just wanted to get that out there and maybe we can…figure out a way past it?” Spencer hesitates. “I know you were waiting for me to say something, but if after this you would rather not see me for a while, I’ll understand just…if that’s the case, I would rather you just walk away without saying anything.” It physically pains him to say that last part, but it is also the truth.

Spencer has no idea what he expects to hear, but if Hotch is the one who now needs time…Spencer isn’t sure he’d be able to hold it in if he said so, and really would rather Hotch just walk away without saying anything, however, when a minute passes and still Hotch hasn’t moved, Spencer’s pulse increases substantially and he starts to panic again.

_Breathe, breathe._

Sitting here, doing this right now, it all feels…so _surreal,_ this is _Hotch._

**_Hotch._ **

_How can this be real?_

He starts picking at his nails again, a childhood habit he’d had that flared up when he was _really_ nervous.

Spencer doesn’t think he can’t take much more of Hotch just _sitting_ there silently, but he is too scared to look at him.

He anxiously begins to scan their surroundings, still carefully avoiding looking at Hotch.

There is a family of ducks in the pond, and a fair distance away two women walk hand in hand down the asphalt path, and above him the willow tree sways when a gust of wind blows through its hundreds of branches and flowers.

All the while, Spencer picks his nails.

Suddenly, something large and warm covers his anxiously moving hands; effectively stilling them.

Spencer’s eyes widen a bit in surprise when he looks down and sees its Hotch’s hand.

The thought occurs to him that Hotch has never touched his bare hands like this before.

He gulps and clenches his eyes tight; sick with nerves, and trying very hard not focus on the warmth seeping into his bare skin.

“Spencer.”

Spencer flinches when Hotch says his name; quiet and determined.

_Is this where I’m let down “gently”?_

Hotch of course would do that as “gentlemanly” as possible.

And Spencer doesn’t think he can take that. In some ways he would rather if Hotch did it with some anger, or just loudly, anything but this composed bearing that makes him so…so…

“Spencer, you’re shaking.”

_Oh._

Spencer blinks opens his eyes to find…yes, he is shaking. I hadn’t even noticed that. Spencer abruptly stills, his hands relax minutely, Hotch’s don’t move.

“Sorry.” Spencer mumbles.

“Don’t be.”

Spencer feels shamefully reassured by Hotch leaving his hands on his, but who knows how long that will last, Hotch hasn’t even really said anything, Spencer half-wonders if Hotch is purposefully stalling or just trying to figure out a way to form his words as gently as possible.

“Spencer, more than anything I want you to know how important you are to me.”

Spencer tenses and forces himself to keep breathing.

“Your friendship has and I hope will continue, to be a part of my life.” Hotchs tone is low, and solemn.

_Gently it is._

Spencer is exceedingly annoyed with how his heart breaks, just a little bit.

“I’m not straight.”

Spencer freezes.

_Um…what?_

His eyes flash open and he stares at his feet with wide, unblinking eyes.

_Did he just – what?_

Hotch breathes in deeply. “I think I’m what is known as a 1, possibly 2, on the Kinsey scale. So while I am predominately attracted to women, it isn’t exclusively.”

Spencer huffs a surprised exhale, while inside he wonders, _why are you telling me this? Now?_

There’s really no logical reason for Spencer to be surprised, he is the one that assumed _. But, still…why would he-?_

“I could go into significant detail before ultimately saying what it is I want to say. However, I suspect if I draw this out much longer, you might pass out on me.”

Spencer snorts coldly. _More like have a heart attack._

“However, there are things you need to know.” Hotch squeezes Spencer’s hands once. “You are not the only one who has been affected by recent events; I never suspected your feelings for me ran deeper until a couple weeks ago, whatever signs there were before – it didn’t really hit me until you made me that hot Mocha,” Spencer bites his lip and feels his cheeks flush. _Of course._ That day was revealing in more ways than one it seems. “After that, when Jack and I got home that night I spent a lot of time thinking.”

Spencer frowns; he is completely confused, this could go _so_ many ways, and he feels entirely lost.

“And I realized, I’ve never been quite sure how to define who you are to me.” _What does that mean?_ Uneasiness arises and twists in Spencer’s gut. “You have always been my friend, however when I think of the others – who they are to me is much clearer, I don’t think have to think about it. But you…you were always different.” Something shakes in Hotch’s tone here, Spencer is completely stuck with his emotions wanting to pull him in several directions; mostly his feelings on what Hotch is saying settle largely on, _‘what?’_ , not sure how to feel about it. “I didn’t realize why until recently. You were a closed door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Again, _what?_ He doesn’t say anything however, afraid yet curious despite himself about what Hotch could mean by that.

Also... _were?_

“I can’t remember when, but at some point, many years ago I saw something in you – or rather I _felt_ it. I was married, we worked together, and so I closed the door. Throughout my career, there have been many times, when either someone or something happened and I knew it would’ve compromised my ability to work in some way, or risk being in a situation where I would have to put someone I care about in danger. Ultimately, I’ve simply always tried to keep my work and personal life separate. And eventually, my tendency to ‘ _close a door’_ as I have come to call it – on something that threatened to cross that line in a way I couldn’t control, became automatic.”

Spencer is in shock.

_What…what is happening? Am I dreaming?_

“I could never quite define you, because in my mind you were a door I had closed a long time ago. When I quit, my outlook on a lot of things changed, and the night at home after dinner at JJ’s, once I realized…I didn’t know what would happen if I _‘opened the door’_ so to speak, so when I did…I…” Hotch’s carefully even tone had become much less so during the past few sentences. “I became, scared.”

That causes Spencer’s jaw to drop; he still doesn’t look at Hotch. Quite frankly, Spencer isn’t convinced he hasn’t stepped into a parallel universe; his mind just…can’t seem to compute what he’s hearing.

“ _Scared?_ ” Spencer speaks, questioning, for the first time since Hotch started talking.

_Why would Hotch be scared?_

_Of…me? That doesn’t make sense._

“Contrary to popular opinion, I am equally as capable of being afraid as anyone – I’m just, usually more adept at hiding it. I was scared because when I opened that door, it ignited a possibility and the next I saw you; I knew where this was going to lead. I could feel it beginning, it made me feel powerless – and scared. It _makes_ me feel powerless and scared.”

_Oh god._

_Oh god, what…what is happening…?_

Spencer is so tense he feels like at any moment he may just snap from the pressure.

He should really try breathing too.

But, how…Spencer feels like his entire body is exploding and constricting all at once.

Spencer is terrified to ask himself the question.

_Is Hotch implying that...?_

“Spencer, I cannot with 100% certainty say I am where you are. _Yet._ ” There is a pleading, barely concealed undertone there that catches Spencer’s ear, even while his heart does nauseating summersaults in his chest. “But…Spencer, can you look at me? Please?”

_Damnit._

Spencer winces, swallows and looks down at Hotch’s hands – still over his – before, for the first time since Hotch sat down, looking at up the man.

The source of the incredulous, impossible words Spencer has been listening to.

_Oh._

Spencer’s mouth parts at what he sees; something _new._ That pleading note is evident in the angle of his eyebrows; deep emotion is emphasizing the lines of Hotch’s face.

There is still something strained in his eyes, however what Spencer sees is a very simple thing; _Hotch_ , laid bare.

Hotch is _choosing_ to share this with him.

He looks…like a _man._

A quiet frankly ridiculous thought, but Spencer can’t think of a better word for it – this is Hotch at his most real, stripped of his otherworldly, hero-like stature, Hotch the _man._

Spencer can’t take his eyes off him.

“I…I don’t understand.” Spencer voice is hoarse.

A small, cautious smile twitches at the corner of Hotch’s mouth.

“Neither do I, not really. I may seem like I am in control of myself, but I am fumbling believe me.” Hotch breathes in shakily. “I’m not really sure where to go from here honestly.”

Spencer narrows his eyes. “Some clarification would be nice, what are you saying exactly?”

Hotch sighs, his dark, storm eyes gaze all around him for a moment before settling on his hands on top of Spencers – a frown drawing his face tight; as if he just remembered they were there.

He inhales a deep, fortifying breath before once again fixating intense eyes full of resolve on Spencers face. “I’m saying I want to move forward, _with_ you.” He emphasises this by squeezing Spencer’s hands, pointed pulling them up to his face and-

- _kissing_ his knuckles.

Spencer blinks.

“If you’ll let me.” Hotch mumbles into their hands, grouped tightly together before laying them gently down on the bench between them and letting go.

Suddenly, Spencer’s hands feel very cold.

And blinks again.

And _again_ , and…

_Wake up Spencer._

_What just happened?_

_I, I don’t…_

“Spencer?”

Apparently Spencer has a weakness for Hotch saying his name like _that_ , soft, and…as if it is precious.

The next thing he knows Spencer has literally, _burst_ into silent tears, shaking from head to toe.

Hotch looks understandably alarmed, but doesn’t hesitant to reach out and wraps his arms tightly around Spencer.

Spencer _sobs_ and clutches the back of Hotch’s shirt so _tight_ he might very well be tearing holes into it.

Hotch doesn’t seem to care.

_This can’t be happening._

_This can’t be happening._

_It’s happening._

Hotch, if possible, is holding him back as tightly as Spencer is; one arm squeezing around his upper back, and the other around his shoulder with the hand stroking softly on the base of his neck.

Spencer meanwhile, is pressing his sobbing face firmly into Hotch’s neck; his fingers clenching and unclenching Hotch’s shirt in bunches.

_I don’t know what’s happening…_

Spencer feels like if he let’s go of Hotch he’ll float away _. Like hell._ So Spencer holds the man even tighter to him, it can’t be comfortable, but Hotch doesn’t complain.

_Is he…he actually…_

When Hotch starts to pull away –

“ _No_.” Spencer whines, tightening his hold on Hotch’s shirt, and then just as reflexively feels _overwhelmingly_ embarrassed.

Hotch just laughs silently; the faint vibration quivering against Spencers face pressed into his throat.

“Can I see your face?”

_I have definitely entered into an alternate reality._

_There is no other explanation._

_Unless I have been more wrong than I thought._

_Which…yeah, has been known to happen._

_Maybe I’m just having an out of body experience._

Spencer answers by pulling away.

God only knows what his face looks like; red, covered in snot, a mess probably.

Spencer’s eyes, still bright with shocked disbelief, stare at the man in front of him.

And Hotch looks so… _tender_ , not even seeming to care about the giant wet spot on his shirt.

He’s not… _smiling_ exactly, but there is new layer of emotion in his eyes that takes Spencer’s breath away, far more powerful than any smile could be.

Hotch stretches out a careful hand, and gently touches Spencers cheek with his thumb; wiping away a single tear before cupping his cheek.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut.

_Maybe I did die in that cabin, and this is heaven._

_It’s not so bad._

He senses Hotch lean forward, and then – surprisingly soft, stubble crested lips are caressing his forehead.

Hotch mercifully doesn’t point out the breathy whine Spencer exhales at that.

And then Hotch is resting his forehead against Spencer’s, just _breathing_ against him.

Spencer feels his heart break all over again, although this time for an entirely different reason.

_I…I need to do something._

Spencers hands had been useless slumped on the bench, but then – oh so tentative, Spencer reaches out and, pushing through a burst of fear, softly touches Hotch’s own face with his fingertips.

Hotch allows it, more than that – Spencer notices the lips so very close to his own, twitch upwards just the slightest bit.

Spencer breathes deeply.

What Hotch said, the _way_ he said it, it feels so…

When someone pictures confessing their love, the ideal response is ‘I love you too’. Hotch of course didn’t do that, outright admitted even he may not be precisely where Spencer is, being far newer to this than Spencer is, but _god_ …wherever Hotch is, it’s wonderful and so _much_ more intense, more visceral than an outright _I love you too_ would’ve been.

 _This_ …is so completely, uniquely _real._

_Oh…I never did respond to him did I? I suppose I should say something._

“Me too, that…that too, what you said.” Spencer grasps the front of Hotch’s shirt with both hands, almost fearfully.

Again, Spencer feels a flash of panic when Hotch pulls away; their foreheads no longer touching.

However, Hotch immediately covers Spencer’s trembling hands with his own and he calms.

“Are you sure?” Hotch asks, solemn again.

Spencer’s immediate response is, _of course!_ But he suspects Hotch is looking for something a bit more…not quite as immediate, and _that_ more than anything makes him realize.

This _is_ real.

For the first time, Spencer lets himself _breathe._

He smiles, widely and turns his hands around so he can intertwine his fingers with Hotch’s.

“As sure as I am about you wearing too many suits.”

Hotch laughs, louder than Spencer has ever seen him do before. _Is that…joy?_

“I haven’t worn a suit in weeks.”

Spencer shrugs.

Hotch hangs his head forward for a minute, shaking it in silent laughter, however when he lifts his head up, Spencer notices tears moistening his eyes – and not solely because of mirth.

Spencer tightly squeezes Hotch’s hands and… _looks._

He’s allowed to now, right?

When Spencer shifts a little, he feels some rectangular poke his knee. Spencer looks down, and it’s his phone.

“Oh, um,” Spencer gently lets go of Hotch’s hands. “I need to make a call, just a second.”

Hotch blinks, a bit taken aback, but merely nods and leans sideways against the bench with his arm resting along the top.

Spencer turns on the phone, but can’t help but look back at Hotch every few seconds. Hotch just waits patiently, watching Spencer with a soft expression.

He dials the number and holds the phone tightly against his ear.

Spencer quickly moves the phone to his other ear, leaving his left hand free and places it cautiously near Hotch’s hand along the top of the bench.

Without a thought Hotch reaches out and grasps his hand – just when JJ answers, _loudly_ , in his ear.

“Spence! Are you ok? What happened? Do I need to load my gun?”

Spencer laughs.

“No, no gun loading please,” Hotch raises a singular eyebrow at that. “I’m fine, it went…well.” Spencer doesn’t quite look at Hotch when he says that.

_Understatement of the millennium._

“Wait a minute…so he-?” JJ’s voice rises incrementally with each word.

“Yes.”

“And you?”

“Yes.”

JJ screams.

“Will! I _fucking knew it!_ ”

And Spencer pulls the phone away from his ear for a moment in shock, gathering by the look on Hotch’s face – he heard it too.

Her excitement, for whatever reason has Spencer feeling decidedly awkward. He pulls his hand away from Hotch’s to lean forward, elbows to knees, and pinch the bridge between his eyes.

Almost immediately Spencer feels a strong hand begin gently massaging the back of his neck.

Spencer hasn’t smiled this much for a long time, if ever.

“Sorry,” JJ says, a lot more mellow and contrite now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Its fine,” Spencer pauses. “I think.” He looks at Hotch with a slightly tense and worried look. “JJ told him.”

Hotch just smiles. “I know, I think the entire _park_ knows.”

“And you’re… _fine_ with that?”

They haven’t exactly… _talked_ yet.

Hotch looks Spencer in the eye very seriously.

“Yes.”

The brief moment of worry and tension melt away.

With a happy smile, Spencer focuses his attention back on JJ.

“It is fine, JJ.”

“I’m glad.” The smile in her voice is more than a little evident. “Well, I won’t keep you from all the necking-”

“ _JJ!_ ” Spencer groans.

“I suppose you won’t be coming over?” JJ teases, completely ignoring him.

Spencer looks at Hotch. His expression hasn’t changed all that much while Spencer has been talking, and it is lovely.

Spencer smiles wide. “No, not today. That’s actually what I called to tell you.”

“Mhm, alright then. I hope you, _both_ of you, have a wonderful day. Take care.”

“You too, JJ.”

Spencer hangs up and slips the phone into his pocket. He turns back to Hotch, but almost immediately Hotch’s rings with his text alert.

Spencer watches with curiosity as Hotch pulls out his phone and frowns at the screen.

“What is it?”

“Jessica got an unexpected call from work,” Hotch says, not taking his eyes off the phone as the reads the message. He sighs. “I need to go back and look after Jack.”

“Oh.” Spencer is disappointed, but this is his _son._ He’s not about to make a fuss about it. “I understand if you have to go.”

Spencer begins packing up his books, but a light touch to his arms stops him mid motion.

He turns to find Hotch watching him with a considering look.

“Do you want to come spend the day with me and Jack?”

Spencer is stunned. He has spent time with Jack many times before, even been over to their house.

But this, after…everything, the intention here is different.

When Spencer doesn’t respond right away, Hotch flounders a little.

“I know this, _literally,_ just happened I didn’t mean to – if this is too much-”

“Hotch.” Spencer stops his, yes – _adorable_ stumbling. “It’s fine. This is Jack, and you, of course I want to.” Spencer nods decisively and stands up from the bench, resuming packing his books away.

When he is done and has the heavy book bag around his shoulders, Spencer realizes Hotch hasn’t said anything.

He looks over to see Hotch still sitting on the bench, eyeing Spencer with shining eyes and a soft, loving smile.

Spencer shifts a bit on his feet, a little self-conscious being looked at that way.

_This really is all so new._

“What?”

Still, Spencer is a little confused about Hotch’s reaction. It’s not like Spencer forgot Hotch has a son, a relationship with Hotch means a relationship with Jack.

Spencer honestly doesn’t mind in the least, far from it.

Hotch doesn’t say anything.

He stands up and walks directly over to Spencer.

Spencer knows what’s coming a second before it does.

Hotch reaches out to him, both hands cup the side of Spencer’s face and he leans in.

With eyes closed, they share their first, real kiss.

 _Oh so much better than last time_ , Spencer thinks as he reaches out with both hands and grasps Hotch’s waist.

Hotch slides his hands into Spencer’s curly hair, and he moans softly – they both do - at the way their lips wonderfully, imperfectly press and slide together.

After a far too short minute, Hotch pulls away.

“That ok?” He quietly asks, softly stroking the sides of Spencer’s face.

Tears of joy fill his eyes, and Spencer knows he has never felt this happy or this _alive_ before in all this life.

Spencer leans forward and hugs Hotch tightly.

Hotch, of course, hugs him back; arms gently encircling the other.

_God I love you._

Spencer turns his head to rest his cheek on Hotch’s shoulder and gently closes his eyes.

There is still so much more to come, but this…this is a good start.

_Thank-you Maeve._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_The message of the willow tree is to adjust with life, rather than fighting it, surrendering to the process._

_The willow reminds us to let go and to surrender completely to our innermost selves and to gain a deeper understanding of our subconscious._

_Another powerful symbolic meaning of the willow tree is its adaptability, the willow tree’s ability to not only survive, but also thrive in some of the most challenging conditions._

_We can also look at how the willow tree encourages the expression of deep emotions, including grief and sadness through tears and teaching us the value and consequences of love and loss._

_One of the greatest symbolic meanings of the willow tree is that even through great loss we have the ability to grow and there is potential for something new._

 

_~_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The source for the Willow Tree meaning is here; https://willowplaceforwomen.com/symbolism-of-the-willow-tree/

**Author's Note:**

> Again, the lovely artwork was done by this talented lady, Pickingupellen; http://pickingupellen.com/weeping-willow2/


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